


gotta bow on my panties (cause my ass is a present)

by charleybradburies



Category: Agent Carter (Marvel Short Film), Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Ableism, Accidents, Adaptation, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Awkward Conversations, Backstory, Based on a Tumblr Post, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, Chair Sex, Chairs, Character Development, Children, Christian Character, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Presents, Christmas Smut, Churches & Cathedrals, Clothed Sex, Clothing, Clothing Kink, Co-workers, Coats, Communication, Communication Failure, Confessions, Consent, Conversations, Counter Sex, Cunnilingus, Debauchery, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Disabled Character, Drama, Drama & Romance, Drinking, Eavesdropping, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family History, Female Friendship, Feminist Themes, Fingerfucking, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Foreplay, Friendship, Gender Issues, Getting Together, God Ships It, Happy Ending, High Heels, I Blame Tumblr, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Monologue, Introspection, Kissing, Light Angst, Lingerie, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, Male Bonding, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Meet the Family, Military, Military Backstory, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Negotiations, Neighbors, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Nudity, Oral Sex, Orgasm, POV Multiple, Partial Nudity, Past Character Death, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Relationship(s), Penis In Vagina Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Physical Disability, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Post-World War II, Pre-Relationship, Premarital Sex, Priests, Prosthesis, Relationship Advice, Relationship Discussions, Relationship Negotiation, Relationship(s), Religion, Religious Conflict, Religious Content, Religious Discussion, Resolution, Resolved Sexual Tension, Revelations, Romantic Soulmates, Secret Crush, Self Confidence Issues, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Equality, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Shopping, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Mo Love, Snow, Spies & Secret Agents, Stripping, Table Sex, Teasing, To Be Continued, True Love, Unconventional Families, Undecided Relationship(s), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, Work In Progress, Workplace, World War II, pre-SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty First Time/Getting Together story (loosely) based on a <a href="http://clarascarters.tumblr.com/post/135858747334/christmas-peggysous-more">post</a> I made on Tumblr...in which Daniel gets the Christmas present of a lifetime, and oh, so much more. (Both POVs.)</p><p>And thank you kindly, Queen Nicki Minaj, for the title lyrics.</p><p>Will have a sequel at some point this year, so stay tuned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“And you, Sousa? Your plans?” Thompson asks casually, leaning back in the chair he’s using. 

Peggy’s not immensely irritated by the holiday conversation, but Daniel, the only other agent seemingly still working this afternoon, has only barely been listening, and Peggy’s quite sure he rolls his eyes when he’s asked to actually contribute, though with the view she has, she can only see that he shrugs.

“By myself Christmas Eve, then midnight mass. Dawn service at a different church with my dad and stepmother, then they’re over at my place most of the day Christmas Day. Gifts, dinner, nothing special.”

“It’s Christmas, man. It’s _supposed_ to be special.”

“Yes, I’m sure Jesus is _very_ disappointed that I don’t plan on having to pull my priest aside for confession before the service.”

He picks up his pen again, to Peggy clearly in intention of returning to his paperwork, but the whole room gives him a collective sigh; only Peggy chuckles at the remark.

“Do you...actually go to confession every week, Sousa?” Ramirez asks with such an amusingly baffled tone that Peggy actually laughs, far too distracted from her work at this point to have redirected her attention properly.

“I take it _you_ don’t, Carter,” Thompson adds.

“I doubt you do, either, Jack, but you’re correct, I don’t. I probably haven’t gone to church more than thrice since before the war, actually...and I believe two of the causal events were fellow soldiers’ deaths.”

“Oh,” both men recoil, clearly startled.

“Don’t _tell_ me that _surprises_ you.”

“Well,” Thompson begins, “Yeah. I don’t know. It’s just...common enough I kind of just figured _most_ people were Christian.”

Peggy starts to steel herself.

“I never said I _wasn’t_. Born, baptized, raised, confirmed, yes. But finding any community in which I’m actually treated like a human being with independent will is nearly impossible, and the longer I’ve put my life at risk for my right to do so, the less bureaucracy I find myself able to deal with.”

The awkward pause is uncomfortable, but better than any snark she’d braced for. Oddly enough, it’s Daniel who eventually speaks, though she knows he only says what the others are also thinking.

“You’re still _here_.”

“Yes, well, last time I tried to do my job outside this system I was accused of treason...not to mention that this job, unlike a weekly religious engagement, as noble as it might be, lets me make a living.”

“No one’s making -” Ramirez starts.

“The first man who offers the entirely pointed suggestion of leaving my post and getting married is getting a bullet in the foot for a Christmas present.”

Thankfully, those words are magic - that, or Jesus does indeed understand, and has more direct power than Peggy recalls being taught - and the conversation disbands, leaving the other agents to pretend to return to the paperwork they’d previously planned to procrastinate on until after the festivities.

Save for Daniel, naturally, who smiles at her warmly, somehow conveying even in his gentle expression the frustrations they share about their situations. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ETA: On a casual reread I realized that I wrote 'Monday' instead of Tuesday. (Christmas Eve 1946 was on a Tuesday; although, in 1945, it was Monday so perhaps I'd just been mistaken as to the year or something, idk.)

"For being the most religious man in the room, you certainly were the least surprised at my statement,” Peggy says, heavy with intention, as they shuffle to finish up at the end of the day, after the co-drinkers and the men with dates have vacated the building. 

“As I’d believe you were at mine,” Daniel says, so clearly intentional it’s almost casual.

Peggy nods, trying not to blush or smile quite as much as her heart seems to think she should.

“In all honesty, I’d be far more surprised to hear you acted in a way that might actually warrant weekly confession.”

“Yeah, well...so would my priest.”

He looks right to her, knowing there will be a reaction; she giggles, clutching her coat a little bit tighter even though she’s not begun to put it on. 

“I’m sure he’s rather fond of you.”

Daniel shrugs, turning around to begin heading over to the coat rack.

“More than my stepmother is, at least. Which I now realize isn’t actually saying all that much…”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.”

“I suppose...but then again, I do see him more often. And I think it puts her off a bit that she’s just barely older than I am, anyway.”

“Yes, that - that would put me off a bit, too. Well, no matter. I wager they’re both less fond than I, regardless.”

“Well, that would depend. Just how fond of me _are_ you?”

Peggy’s taken aback enough that she can feel her eyes growing wider and her heart racing as he moves past her desk to grab his coat. 

He couldn’t _know_ , could he? The only person she’d explicitly told about her feelings was Angie...who had already lied to the faces of federal agents for her sake, for far less. 

Luckily, before she composes enough of a reply to actually speak, Daniel laughs again, like it were an inside joke, and clarifies.

“Fond enough that I wouldn’t be out of line to give you something for Christmas?”

She’s wholly sure she’s blushing now; the fact she’s just slid into her coat isn’t helpful by any means, nor is her awkward stumbling over herself for a moment afterwards.

“You _don’t_ have to get me anything, Daniel.”

Closest to the stand, he plucks up her hat and holds it out to her.

“Well, you clearly weren’t expecting me to...but, that wasn’t the question.”

_At least he was chivalrous about catching me off guard._

Peggy pulls her hat up off his hand by its rim and tilts it into place.

“...fond enough to suggest that I join you at your apartment Tuesday evening for champagne and an _exchange_ of gifts.”

“That’s fair,” Daniel nods, and Peggy wills herself away from noticing just how _relieved_ he seems at her answer as she accepts his gesturing her forward, urging her to walk ahead of him on the way out...which he only actively did with her - because, she hoped, he knew that she’d respect whatever pacing he needed, without complaint.

It’s certainly not that he likes getting to walk next to her longer, spend even more time than they already spend together, some time alone...or even that she’s okay with letting him be a gentleman sometimes, like when he hands her her hat or crutches over to where Jarvis had whichever car of Howard’s he was driving to pick Peggy up, to wave good night. 

Surely he was that much of a gentleman to everyone - every woman, at least. Daniel was too full of respect, of compassion, not to be giving it freely. 

But she does sort of like to think that she’s special. That there’s a special smile he saves for her, or a story she knows that he doesn’t tell most anyone else.

Now _that_ would be some wonderful Christmas gift, wouldn’t it?

What a thought.

In a motion picture, perhaps.


	3. Chapter 3

The office group is more in agreement than they usually are when drunk, one sign something is all too different about this situation. 

Thompson and Wilkes vote lingerie.

Ramirez and Flynn vote jewelry.

Howard says both, and offers to front, because of course he does.

Daniel maintains that he’s not going into the holiday with ‘woo female co-worker’ on his to-do list, but no one seems to care, not even the pub owner - although that might just be because they’re good, reliable customers. Howard usually paid, and majority vote almost always ruled.

“You’re in love with the damn girl, Sousa. You have to do _something._ " Thompson presses.

“ _You_ all decided I was in love with her; _I've_ never said anything to that effect. And I _am_ going to do something. Just not…”

He gestures aimlessly. 

Thompson sighs. Loudly.

“Look, Carter’s _respect_ is one thing. You have that, that’s all well and good, but we’re talking about the difference between having coffee willingly made and delivered to your desk with a smile, and _actually_ taking her to bed. Which, come on, as great of a guy you are...you want. Acting like you don’t isn’t going to get you any closer to it happening.”

Daniel might as well have a hangover already. This is painful.

“Why am I even _trying_ to have a part in this conversation?” he grumbles.

“Because you know we’re right,” Howard supplies easily, and Daniel puts his head in his hands.

“Oh, do I? Because you obviously have such a high rate of success.”

“I have an extremely high rate of success. I can count on one hand the women who’ve refused to go out with me, and there are too many others to remember their damn names.”

“Exactly. You get almost any girl, for a couple of weeks maximum, then one of you dramatically calls it quits, cycle repeats. I don’t think anyone here should find it hard to believe that hit-and-run dating isn’t something I take part in.”

He starts reaching for his crutch, and is momentarily very grateful for the excuse to be seated on the edge of any booth. Easier way to ditch when the going got obnoxious.

“And for the record, I’ll remind you and Thompson that Agent Carter, who is, as you've clearly not forgotten, the woman in question, is high on your scales of failure.”

“Okay, that’s harsh.”

“She pushed you in a river, Howard.”

“She _told_ you about that?”

Daniel leans into his crutch slightly, able now to stand straight and as authoritatively as he can manage, taking pleasure in the light laughter among the group.

“Wow. This is even more emasculating than I’d thought it would feel,” Howard muses sharply.

“Oh, don’t feel bad. She knocked Thompson unconscious in an alley for calling her ‘sweetheart,’” Daniel quickly retorts.

Thompson opens his mouth to give what protest he can, but Daniel shuts it down.

“I have actually talked to her about it in person, _and_ read her account of events from the file. That _was_ the specific reason.”

“Yeah, well, she beat up Jarvis, too, for not introducing himself properly,” Howard jumps. “And - and for the record, Danny boy, she also took shots at Rogers.”

“While he was holding up a shield that was supposed to be nearly indestructible. And yet, earlier in her military career, she knocked out a - what was his name, Gilmore Hodge?”

“Okay, _that_ \- that’s a good story, though.”

“Just think,” Thompson begins, leaning into the table with his glass in his curled hand practically underneath his chest as he does, “fifty years from now, you'n Carter could be telling your grandchildren about how you almost convicted her for treason. Now that is a _damn_ good story.”

A flat, unamused “Merry Christmas, Thompson,” is all that with which Daniel leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

Angie grumbles, scrunching her face up as though she’s on stage and needs to make her motions clearer for an audience, even though she’s only behind the counter at the Automat.

“Favorite cologne?”

“How would I know?”

“I mean _yours,_ English. Do _you_ have one?”

“I can’t imagine why I would...oh, maybe this is just pointless. I should probably just stick with the vest idea.”

“But that’s so _safe_ ,” Angie whines, twirling around to pull down a platter into her arms.

“Last I checked, being safe wasn’t a bad thing.”

“Not by itself, maybe.” 

Angie shoots her a disapproving look, and adjusts her path out from behind the counter so she comes over to Peggy’s side to pretend to lower her voice all the way to a whisper as she’s heading to her next customer.

“But when you’re trying to get a guy to buy ya lobster or take his pants off, it’s definitely _not_ the first adjective that should come to mind when you’re getting him something.”

Peggy rolls her eyes.

Angie’s popped back to her side before she knows it, with eyes wide and a smirk of a smile like she’s thought of something really good and her hand at the back of Peggy’s barstool.

“Lingerie.”

“Wait, in what -”

_Oh._

“Angie!” Peggy blushes.

“Admit it. It’s genius.”

“More like scandalous, bloody Nora...”

“Oh, come on. Who’s he gonna tell? Your co-workers? His priest?”

“I’m quite certain he _would_ actually tell his priest.”

“Oh, is he one of _those_ guys? Teaches Sunday school or something?”

“I don’t know about Sunday school specifically, but in the context of what I think you’re getting at, yes.”

Angie purses her lips.

“New plan: just buy your own damn _ring._ That’s dad material, Peg.”

Peggy sighs, her hands reflexively coming to block the respective cheeks from view as her face warms with embarrassment.

“Angela Martinelli, I don’t even know if he thinks of me...like _that_.”

“You mean, if he’s sweet on you? Honey, we had the legs conversation, didn’t we? I’d be alarmed, suspicious, and disappointed about the rules of confession, if he’d say he’s not.”

“What do the rules of confession have to do with anything?”

“Because if he claims he doesn’t, he’s either lying or poofy, and either way, a man like that, he’d have mentioned it to his priest. But if he’s a _good_ priest-”

“Even a professional interrogation wouldn’t override confidentiality. Now I see. It's a stretch to begin with, but I see.”

Peggy leans her forehead into her hands, noticing that her elbow’s grown slightly sore from being rested atop the counter for most of the time she’s been at the diner. Angie leaves her side and maneuvers to her post behind the counter, coming back around to the far end to be facing Peggy. 

“Just...be sure you get him something nice. Not, like, existence-acknowledging nice - that’s an acquaintance kind of nice. It’s smiling and saying “hello” in the hallway at work but otherwise not making any effort. It has to be...manhood-acknowledging nice. Attractiveness-acknowledging. Like calling off the butler for once and accepting one of his offers to drive you home, so you can talk some more.”

“Angie, that never makes _sense._ He’d be going out of his way. And as long as Howard’s maintaining the familial privilege he’s keen on giving me, Jarvis is only doing his job.”

Angie pauses and presses her eyes shut, that apparently being more than she can process without what seems like frustration coming up; what's left of her mascara can be seen clumping together when she takes a deep breath and flicks her eyes open again.

“But this - this is what I’m talking about! He is entirely _aware_ that he’d be going out of his way, but the fact that he’s offered is his acknowledgement of your greater importance...jeez, English, did you get every other guy by legs alone or what? You are only good at flirting if you’re undercover, and it’s legitimately sad.”

“Miss?” comes a small voice from the entry area as soon as Angie looks to be done talking. 

“Are you still open?”

Angie’s head pops back to the kitchen’s clock.

“For a little less’n half an hour more, yep. What can I do you for?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure what happened here with all the Blitzkrieg Button emotions going on...so, sorry(ish) about that. Just seemed like a natural development ~~that I hope happens with their on-screen relationships~~ so there you have it. 
> 
> But enough about me. On to le grande reveal. (And I promise, the smutty part soon.)

Almost immediately after the door clicks closed behind her she hears a long, drawn-out sigh. 

“You really must think I’m a pushover.”

_Daniel._

“No, I’m actually pretty sure you’re stubborn as an ass.” 

_And Thompson._ As cocky as usual, and from what Peggy can hear, scooting a chair somewhere to sit down on, probably up to a table.

“That’s kind of why I’m here,” he adds.

“No, you’re here because you enjoy sticking your nose into business that isn’t yours.”

“Oh, here we go.”

She can just picture Jack’s eyeroll - and Daniel’s to follow it. 

She’s easily a few aisles away from them, and she’d bet they haven’t heard her. After all, she entered the file room quickly and quietly...unlike some people. Well, mostly Thompson. Not that Daniel couldn’t be heard - it couldn’t really be avoided - but he wasn’t loud on purpose. Peggy’s only ever heard him raise his voice a couple of times.

_And now another._

“Yes, Jack. Here we go. We’re going to be having this same _shitty_ conversation until you stop trying to badger me about the same damn things.”

“You want me to shut up about this? Then either make the pass and get the dame, or turn off the goddamn gas, Sousa.”

Daniel scoffs. Folder clenched in her hand, Peggy can tell she starts holding her breath, but _oh_ , she’s eavesdropping too closely now to stop herself. Even if she tried to step away, to leave the file room...she’d probably catch their attention and have to explain herself - and she’d never stop wondering what exactly they’re talking about. 

Or _whom_ , rather.

“Even _you_ are smart enough to know it’s not that simple.”

“Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it is. But you’re not even rolling the dice, man.”

“Jack...let me put this way: last time I gambled on a woman, I lost half a leg, which isn’t much considering how close I came to returning stateside in a box but seems like a hell of a lot back here, where most of my dignity’s gone with it. And if you’ll remember, back before the tail end of the Stark fiasco, you, along with every other man under this roof, were tellin’ me to give it up any time I even said something mildly nice. Because you, along with every other man under this roof, me included, know that the standard’s been set. And last time any of us checked, Captain America was a pretty damn high bar.”

She’s too out of breath to gasp, but certainly not for lack of trying, as that and a white-knuckled grip on the file now pressed against her chest are her body’s automatic - inevitable? - reactions to whatever exactly has just happened. Thank _God_ she makes barely any noise as she wrenches one hand off the folder to steady herself on the shelf next to her.

“Daniel-” Thompson’s voice holds more desperation than she expects it to.

“I’m keeping what dignity I have left. She gets to have faith that mankind is good enough that men are indeed capable of treating her with respect without having the ulterior motive of getting her out of her unmentionables. Win-Win.”

It hurts to hear it, and certainly sounds like it hurts to say, but even as she feels an aching start to rise in her chest she’s still too in shock for her body to really react to it alone.

“But it’s not! You haven’t won shit, Sousa, because you’re stuck on her, and you’re _still_ stuck! Not ‘stick in the mud’ stuck, ‘lipstick that never seems to come off’ stuck...the kind where you end up having to get rid of some nice dress shirts because even the dry cleaners can’t get rid of it.”

Daniel’s sigh is angry, but it’s there and it’s heavy and it’s a relinquishing of _something_ he’s barely holding on to in the first place. 

“Jack, please, do try to tell me something I don’t know. Like, for instance, why you even care so much about what I do or do not tell Carter.”

She hears chairs moving and freezes in place again, but thankfully it's only a small adjustment.

“Because right now, the two of you are pretty much the closest I have to actual friends. As in, people not related to me that give half a damn about me.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Really? _You_ look at your wartime buddies, or the guys you knew before, and see some understanding about what happened out there? No one talks about it, Daniel, except to be some kind of patriotic, but here, sometimes...some people actually seem to remember that it wasn’t all USO shows and cigarettes.”

_Oh...oh, Jack._

“It takes a lot to keep fighting these bastards. Fighting the war that’s not even really over. The war that, half the time, I lose sleep over, sometimes just lying there, wishing I hadn’t even made it back.”

“And Peggy and I, we _help_?”

Daniel’s voice is soft, paternal - not mocking, as hers might have ended up, regardless of the fact that, knowing as much of the story as she does, she knows better than to imagine what specifics Thompson prays not to remember whilst forcing half a chuckle in response to his colleague’s inquiry.

“ _You_ show up, day after day, and usually do a better job than the rest of the office combined, no matter what. No matter what it means for you, personally, you don’t...consider not doing the right thing. And Carter, I mean...not just showing up, but coming back. Not just to the SSR but...in Russia, for me. She could have, maybe should have, left me there. Saved herself, her men - ‘cause let’s be honest, she was the one whose opinion they actually valued - but no. And didn’t say a bad thing when I told her why I’d frozen up. I’d been a complete jerk to her, and she had total power to just...destroy me. And instead, she decided to reassure me.”

Daniel lets Jack take a moment, a deep breath, and a sigh, before continuing. 

“I feel a hell of a lot better knowing the country as a whole, and my own life specifically, is in your hands. And I'm sorry, because it sounds cheesy and this isn’t really a moment men have, but…”

“Just because it doesn’t happen all that often doesn’t mean it shouldn’t. You’re about as aware as I am that we actually do _have_ feelings.”

“Almost rather not.”

“Me too, sometimes.”

“Moral of the story is, we’re a team, we’re friends, and I care. About both of you. Don’t...please don’t tell her I actually said that.”

Peggy has to stifle a laugh, but even in the midst of Jack’s admissions the air feels clearer, and she loosens her posture and deepens her breath, setting the file folder down on the shelf. 

“So as your friend, Sousa, I care that you’re basically miserable, thinking Carter wants some Prince Charming America riding in on a horse and sweeping her off her feet, because let’s be real, she’d just take the horse and ditch. Turn into...British Annie Oakley or something. Go shoot some gangsters.”

“Pretty sure Annie Oakley doesn’t shoot gangsters. And I don’t know about the horse, either,” Daniel contests, but Peggy hears the lilt of a laugh in his voice, and the consequent teasing but annoyed groan from Thompson. A moment of silence falls between them, but now it feels more...friendly.

“At _least_ tell me you’ll get her flowers. Or _a_ flower. One poinsettia! One stupid pretty poinsettia. It’s Christmasy, and it’ll match her lipstick. There’s your present, voila.”

Something wooden creaks, and a sigh happens with it, though she’s not sure whose. 

“One flower.”

“I will...think about it.”

“Damn you,” Jack declares definitively, and then he apparently gives up, because she hears his footsteps as they head down the aisle and start coming towards her. She slips behind the end of the last shelf, and manages to refrain from a sigh of relief when the door closes behind him, her presence entirely unnoted. 

“What kind of present is a single flower? Jeez,” Daniel mutters but a moment or two later, and Peggy then finds her relief in the fact that his subsequent departure is steady - more mesmerizing, for her, than a ticking clock - and slow; he doesn’t often allow himself the latter.

A heavy, harsh exhale of disbelief is all she musters afterwards, during however long the eternity is that she takes to attempt to process what’s just happened.

What she’s just heard.

What she wasn’t meant to hear...or was she? Clearly, however smart he was, Daniel was clueless as to _her_ feelings; she realizes that may just be evidence of her being a good liar, or at least a good actress. She’d fooled him before, hadn’t she?

But this truth he’d made clear he had no intention of acting on, though she really isn’t sure for fear of what. Peggy herself was afraid of plenty, but now...now what? There wasn’t exactly a tactful or diplomatic, let alone romantic, way to try for a conversation about this. It would be cornering him, confronting him, no matter her intentions, to bring it up directly, wouldn’t it? 

And how was she supposed to defend that she’d stayed to listen? Sure, for most intents and purposes they were spies, but eavesdropping as he and a friend, a fellow co-worker, had discussed matters about which both were vulnerable? That wasn’t her job, that was selfishness, personal interest.

That was burning up for someone whose momentary touch could leave you tender in all the best worst places, and wondering whether they had any idea, any at all, that something inside you just might be on fire.

This was stumbling upon a torch with your names on it like a heart cut into a tree without knowing they were carrying one, too, and oh, she doesn’t know if it’s magical or hellish.

Either way - or if, God forbid, it was just both - what on Earth was she supposed to do?

 _Angie._ She had to talk to Angie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This here chapta' is dedicated to my lovely Step-Aunt Barbie :D (and all the fam'lay I gots below the Maize 'n' Dick's son Line.) 
> 
> LYNG <3  
> (Love Ya, Now Git)

The bell on the shop door startles Peggy far too much, and Angie is all too amused. Peggy doesn’t have the energy to devote to being annoyed with her, though, not for more than a couple seconds. 

She hasn’t had enough coffee, either, for that matter, to be up this late. She’s surprised the shop is even open; when she’s up doing proper work this late it’s usually only restaurants and bars.

“You here by chance, darling, or do you have a referral?” asks the receptionist from her desk up front. Angie’s drawn in by the large room full of a vast array of so-called specialty garments, but Peggy toes closer to the desk.

“An informal referral. I’m not sure it’d be on paper. Howard Stark.”

A woman farther in the store, with a measuring tape slung over her shoulders, an authoritative stance, and her eyes formerly fixated on something Peggy can’t see, turns around, and whips off her heavy-rimmed glasses in the short process, holding them between two fingers.

“That’s curious,” she says, though she doesn’t really sound like she’s asking a question, merely stating a fact. “Mister Stark usually sends us his butler on his business.”

“I’m sure he does, but I’m not one of his...girlfriends. I’m his cousin, actually.”

“And spoken for,” Angie assertively adds. Peggy sends her a momentary glare, but doesn’t have much time to do so before she’s been spoken _to_ again.

“Which is why you’re here, of course, of course - last minute decorating, I take it?” the other woman replies casually to both of them, her heels padding audibly against the pale green carpeting as she quickly comes over to the receptionist’s desk, puts her glasses back on, and holds out a nicely-manicured hand for Peggy’s own to shake. 

“Well, I’m honored to be of assistance, Miss -”

“Carter.”

“Miss Carter. Regal sort of name, fits a woman whose reputation I imagine proceeds her. And you are, Miss?” she says with a wink, then turns her head to Angie.

“Martinelli. I’m her best friend.”

“Clearly. And no better accompaniment for such a mission.”

She claps her hands together, the sound hollow and excited, then gestures to herself, a group of bracelets clanging together.

“Barbie Simmons, and it’s a pleasure. Well, darlings, my job is to help women emphasize their assets. You,” she points to Peggy with a single finger, “will make my job both very easy and very difficult, since I imagine you’re irresistible precisely as you are now.” 

Caught ever-so-slightly off guard, Peggy can’t help a wince at the accolade, even though she does indeed recognize it as one.

“No, really, dear, I mean it. Take your hems in a bit, you’re a pinup! I’m sure this man of yours swears up ’n down you the toast o’ the Empire State.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong,” Angie chimes cheerily, and Peggy blushes too much to manage the slightest disapproving glare, though not for lack of trying. Barbie’s head bobs up, angled toward the front desk.

“We’ll be in the back, Edith. I don’t have anyone _scheduled_ the rest of the night, so you might well have the store all to yourself, but if we get any more walk-ins, just let them browse for a jif,” she gesticulates around the soft pink and green room, full of half-dressed mannequins and holiday decor. 

“Actually, you might call Mister Stark, check to see if he wants her on his tab.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Peggy darts to say, nearly interrupting her. Barbie waves her off, her bracelets jingling.

“Ah, it’s Christmas! Let the man pay! It’s not like it’s likely he’s decided what he’s getting anyone yet, there’s still a couple of days left and I honestly think he thinks straightest under deadline.”

Angie laughs, and Peggy pushes herself back into a lighthearted smile.

“Oh, all right,” she capitulates, and Barbie excitedly guides Peggy and Angie through a curtain-covered doorway to another, smaller, room, before dashing alone into what Peggy presumes is a very large closet - perhaps a repurposed dressing room? This small room, Peggy notices as they’re left there for a minute or two as Barbie rifles through things, looks much closer to the tailor’s shop Peggy’d half-expected they’d be going to; it makes her feel a little more certain that this plan of hers - well, Angie’s, really - is actually realistic and legitimate. 

After all, just the other day Daniel had confirmed his rather strict adherence to his religion; she knows from conversation that he’s had girlfriends before, but she hadn’t actually considered before this week that he may never have had sex (or not wish to).

Not that either was an actual problem, per se. She didn’t mind, especially considering that of all people he’d not judge her for _having_ done so (or for wanting to), but it supplied her the worry that he might not, well, get the message. She wasn’t sure how she’d handle herself if the gesture itself didn’t do most of the communication for her. There were too many things to say, too many variables, too many things to get horribly wrong. And while Peggy had history, Peggy happened to have a history of getting it wrong. That wasn’t to say that all her actions that could be called mistakes had been for the worse; the one that ultimately separated her from her family and her homeland had been the impetus for her military career, and even looking back years later, she knows that playing housewife for the man she’d once planned to marry would have been a worse fate than the time she’d spent undercover as a maid - or even, dare she say, worse than being brought in by her own co-workers on treason charges, or than being expected to make coffee for men whose titles ranked them far lower than she. At least here she was earning money for her troubles, not waiting for some man to do it for her.

She’d had enough of waiting for men. So many of them seldom got things done quickly enough; or, if something was to be done carefully and slowly, they rushed in, and almost without fail, then proceeded to look to her to pick up the pieces as though they’d taken her warnings as anything but a broken record beforehand.

Even the best of them, she had to wait for - though that always seemed to be on drastically different grounds. Steve hadn’t had half a clue about romance, and now here she was, stuck on a guy who was too concerned about pushing her possible boundaries to so much as buy her a Christmas gift that implied he paid greater attention to her physical assets than her less tangible ones...entirely, although not blissfully, unaware that she desperately _wants_ him to pay attention to the former. Half the time, Daniel barely even acknowledged she was a woman, for heaven’s sake - a sort of behavior which had its place, such as in the presence of their colleagues who barely acknowledged anything _else_ about her, but alone in the file room, or anywhere else for that matter, that was not of issue. As she’s long since realized, he felt a responsibility to treat her as much like any other co-worker as possible, simply because he really was the only one at the office intellectually capable of grasping how to do so - but God, how she _wanted_ to be special. Not only in the workplace, but in his life, and not on account of the fact that she, too, treated him as an equal, but well and truly _special._

She wanted his respect to morph into love - that transformative, magical, consuming love that she’s no longer sure exists. She wants to feel it in her soul, wants to feel his hands all over her, his lips, the warmth one wakes up to in a shared bed. And of course there were other things she’s thought about all too much, because she, as a matter of fact, is a sexual being, but that’s what she always comes back to - a kiss.

The thought comes to her that perhaps she should just wrap up a sprig of mistletoe, but then she hears Barbie’s peppery voice again, giving her direction, and drops it to the green carpet along with her button-up skirt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Obviously, this wasn't finished before the New Year as I'd intended. "Real Life", amirite? But don't think I've forgotten this darling of mine ;)

It was hard, Daniel found - far too hard, far harder than it should have been - to prepare himself and his apartment for this evening. Not that anything was ever out of order - Daniel was ‘stringently meticulous’, according to his father - and it wasn’t as though the last time he’d seen Peggy had been barely more than two days before, since they’d been at work till noon that Saturday. There hadn’t been much work to be done, for the two of them, but Thompson hated to give off the impression that he gave either of them favorable treatment, so they’d been there all the same.

Additionally, it’s not as though Daniel doesn’t know that this is _not_ a romantic dinner, regardless of the inconvenient evidence that he’s not been able to convince his whole body to acknowledge that - and the fact she’s coming over at seven - but even if she weren’t hot and he wasn’t burning up for her, he’d be having trouble keeping his head on his shoulders. He knows that, too; and he knows himself around her, all too well and all too incompletely. 

He finds out soon enough that Peggy’s not _exactly_ keen on helping him abstain from his boyish hopes and lust-filled thoughts.

Not if the emerald coat that’s practically sheathing her upon her arrival has anything to say about it: somewhat short, and most of it definitely tight as well - and stockings tinted cherry red that he doubted were sufficient to keep her legs warm at all - not daywear but not particularly inappropriate...for a night out. 

She doesn’t look like she’s over at a co-worker’s apartment, and certainly not like she’s at a friend’s. She looks like she’s going undercover at a fancy bar, or like she’s supposed to be on a magazine. Maybe one of those that just passed for fashion magazines even though naive housewives were the only people who bought them for the purpose of primarily using them as catalogues instead of soft pornography. 

Dear _God,_ he didn’t need this now. Makes him wonder what shitty thing he did this year that he’s apparently still unaware of - some sin for which he's nonetheless doing penance.

But the moment of shameful study he gets as she insists on taking the champagne she’d brought over to the dining room herself reveals ruby accents that, if he were looking at this from an investigator’s perspective, would tell him the coat’s been made and purchased with Christmas in mind - and even being made of what looks to be a quite malleable fabric, it doesn’t look like it’s ever been worn.

It certainly hasn’t been worn to work, if only because she’d never willingly give anyone at the SSR half an excuse to look at her like he doesn’t exactly have a choice but to do right now. 

Or, well...anyone _else._

And the stockings end around where the coat starts - which he wouldn’t think of as strange, if he could notice anything between those layers of fabric. 

He’d hoped to get through the evening without having to hide or make some sorry excuse for getting hard. Now, following Peggy’s happy but quick greeting, her entry, and his reality check, those prospects are starting to look bleaker by the second. 

“Are you...okay, Daniel?” 

She sounds legitimately concerned, and then he realizes he hasn’t followed her into the dining room, as he’d intended, and had been even more disconnected than he’d thought. 

She turns around and comes back over to the doorway, shortly enough afterwards that it doesn’t look like she gave it much thought at all. 

“Yeah, I hope. Tired, stressed. I’m assuming it shows,” he says as casually as he can manage to, and she smiles - gently, barely, but she smiles.

“We’ve made a habit of actually speaking to one another. It’s not that difficult to see if you’re out of sorts.”

“That’s...good to know,” he says, half-grumbling as he moves his crutch far enough ahead of himself that it’ll support him as he starts going over to his kitchen. “Unfortunate, but good to know.”

Looking over at her as they both start moving again, he sees her recoil, hand coming up to her chest, and realizes he’d almost bumped into it with his crutch arm. She doesn’t make anything of it at all, but he can’t help but wonder if her hand had been near his by chance or if she’d actually been reaching for him. 

That thought is confusing, reassuring, and disappointing at the same time. Because, sure, friends had physical contact, and yes, it’s nice to think she might want more of it than they have in whatever sort of relationship it is exactly that they have, but it wasn’t like she’d been multiple feet away from him - who’s to say something inside of him wouldn’t have put the idea in his head to just lean over and kiss her, and then what? 

He continues doing his best to distract himself on the relatively short trip, but even as he ultimately follows orders and heads alone into the dining room, leaving her to grab the cake he has on the counter, there’s still something inside him trying to kick and scream.

Because who’s to say she _wouldn’t_ kiss him back?

If it were any other man and woman whose lives he was analyzing, he’d say that there was enough to evince the contrary to have reasonable doubt...so how much _did_ it really matter that it _wasn’t_ any other man and woman?

“Well, regardless, any secrets of yours are safe with me, I promise,” she says teasingly as she enters the room, her pending arrival announced by the fact that her heels no longer make noise once they’re on the carpet, which is an odd thing to find even a tinge of annoyance at, but Daniel finds he does...probably because he was so accustomed to the heels. She, of course, was the only agent to wear shoes with proper heels, and since none of the phone company girls walked with the same authority she wore as though the air of it was in her perfume, Daniel was always able to tell if she was around.

Like basically everything else about her, it was for him both a blessing and a curse. 

Of course he told himself that if he could just _get over her_ he’d be fine - but then, like now, she gently touches his arm after he’s sat down, like she’s checking that he’s still there mentally, and the idea of _not_ wanting more than just that touch is inconceivable. 

But it keeps happening, and by the time they’re done feigning any real whining about having to go in that past Saturday, he’s pretty sure Peggy either has absolutely no idea that it affects him at all, or that she’s doing it on purpose, even though he doesn’t know why she would. Even though they _are_ sitting at the corner of a fairly small table, both facing away from it but not exactly facing each other, and it _is_ only them so it makes sense they’d act a little differently than around their coworkers...it wasn’t something that happened all that often in general. And sure, he savored it whenever it happened, but there’s usually a specific reason, and much of this evening he can’t put a finger on any possible one. 

They talk of annoyances, but not of anything significant enough to warrant physical comfort - save for when Captain Rogers comes up, because of course he does; Peggy _had_ once hoped for a future with the man, after all. Yet, she doesn’t seem uncomfortable with touching Daniel; she just keeps talking or listening, as though occasionally touching his arm or hand or shoulder was the most natural thing. 

He needed to be more careful what he wished for. 

Those bright, brown, mascara-enunciated eyes, just might be the death of him if he doesn’t.


	8. Chapter 8

Going into the night with different knowledge and a different mindset, she’s entirely understanding of why Thompson was so immensely sure of Daniel’s interest. She’s almost embarrassed to have missed all the little things she sees now - but it only makes his reticence more difficult to take. There was a part of her that just wanted to scream at him, accuse him of lacking courage or ambition or confidence even though she knew only one of those was true, yelp that she was _here_ , for heaven’s sake - in a new coat that hugged her down to her hips, and she knew nothing besides that and her shoes and stockings were visible because she was barely even _wearing_ anything else, and she _knows_ he’s noticed how short the coat is because she watched his eyes flicker over her for a moment - and God, how _could_ a man have so much self-control? 

And perhaps more importantly, why the bloody hell would he _want_ to?

Still, she can see it, she watches it, wearing on him, and yet it doesn’t get them any closer to...anything. It just frustrates him...and her in turn, but he _clearly_ doesn’t know that.

Does he really believe so strongly that she doesn’t want him that even having her sitting here, flirting like her life just about depended on it, means almost nothing?

Perhaps Miss Barbie’s advice had been best, and she should have simply taken her coat off soon after he’d opened the door. It might have been more efficient. Not that she didn’t enjoy talking, she enjoyed it plenty, there just...was a very large elephant sitting in the very small space between them. She wanted it gone, but Daniel seemed to be petting it like a cat and hoping it’d behave like one and decide to leave on its own.

In other words, he’d never actually _owned_ a cat. 

_No, of course not. He’d enlisted practically right out of high school. And they weren’t exactly pets to get if you wanted company, so it wouldn’t help him much here, either. Unless by cat someone was casually referring to a friend, or to a woman._

_Hey, if curling up at the foot of his bed was an option…_

Peggy decides to cross her legs, scooting back a smidge to have better leverage for raising up her right leg and folding it so the bottom of its thigh rests on the top of her left thigh, leaning into her left side with her elbow on the table and her head upon her hand. She feels the hem of the coat creeping up, and though it’s only a little, she hopes he notices.

Daniel makes an impressive attempt not to do so, determined to look at nothing other than her eyes and the piece of cake he starts cutting as a distraction. He offers her one, and she’s sure to accept gracefully, pretending she doesn’t notice that he finishes his just slowly enough that she couldn’t reasonably make a fuss about him rushing. 

She hasn’t yet finished her piece when he awkwardly excuses himself, for some small thing he’s just now remembered he’d needed to do today. Peggy pauses, but doesn’t react until he’s almost out of the dining room; she hears that first moment that his crutch is back on the kitchen tile, and sighs, eyes pressed closed, perhaps like she wants this to be a dream. Just a bad dream, and it’ll turn out she fell asleep in the taxi on the way back from the shopping excursion she and Angie went on. She’ll be jolted awake in the backseat to Howard skipping out of his house excitedly, bringing money for the cabbie, a smile that’s far too big, and eyes far too curious. She’ll roll her eyes at him, sleep uneasily, and maybe she’ll think of another, any other, any more suitable, present.

She’s still looking at Daniel’s off-white wall when she opens her eyes again, and then she just can’t hold herself back, even though she thinks - or at least, imagines - that she tries.

“Daniel, stop.” Her voice rings against the walls, sounding harsher to her ear than it feels at her lips, and either that or the fact that she’s uncrossing her legs and pushing herself up from her chair a moment later actually gets him to stop, halfway through the kitchen. She stands in place a moment, in seemingly subconscious consideration, before veering in the opposite direction and going into the kitchen herself. Daniel’s close to the counter, itself parallel to the dining room, and she slides in between him and its edge, angling herself so she’s facing him almost head-on...not quite eye-to-eye. Without shoes, perhaps, she thinks they might be roughly the same height. Not that it...particularly...matters. 

This time, her voice is weak, but thankfully it doesn’t crack.

“Stop running away from this. Please.” 

His eyes flicker with something impossible to define.

“You know almost as well as I do that running isn’t exactly an _option._ ”

Peggy’s heart feels like it’s about to drop into her stomach, but she sets her jaw anyway. This isn’t a conversation she’s leaving here without having.

“You really _are_ almost as stubborn as I am, aren’t you?”

She feels herself frowning, feels the teenaged girl inside her wanting to go sob and smoke in a bathroom and refuse to return, and Daniel’s trying not to scowl or scoff, but they’re too close right now at this moment for her _not_ to make this the moment of truth, and even though her right hand shakes a bit as she raises it she curls her palm against the far side of his neck and pulls his mouth over to hers. 

Daniel freezes in place and time damn near stops with him, but he doesn’t so much as tilt his head away from her, so she waits the horridly long few seconds it takes him to...do whatever exactly he does, whether it’s making up his mind, or trying to wrap it around the fact that this is happening, or whatever else. 

His left arm reaches past her, grabbing onto the countertop, and he takes a couple steps to change his angle so he’s facing it and her back is against it; then the hand shifts so it’s no longer holding the counter but sitting on it, then so it sits, just barely noticeable, at her back, around the lowermost elastic of her brassiere, but objectively without intention. His right hand, though, curls around her left hip, and oh _God_ , that single movement is the one with something to tell her. 

Half a laugh of relief spilling into her mouth, she leans farther forward and pushes his arm further back with her left hand, his hand then realizing it’s allowed to hold her by the small of her back and all of him - both of them - shifting in accordance. 

He first pulls his lips away from hers for longer than a fraction of a second to take a heavy gasp and a turn to play the leader; now effectively the taller of them, he leans downward and into a kiss surprisingly deeper than the first. Peggy moves her arms to have her chest up against his - her left hand to his shoulder, arm resting above the corresponding one of his, which reached around her waist, and her right arm curling around his neck. 

Even with her chest quite as generous as it is, she’s able to keep pulling him ever closer, closer until just about every part of their bodies that possibly could is pressed against the other’s warmth in some fashion. Possibly, she wonders, close enough that he’s able to tell the way her heart keeps insisting on trying to leap forth from inside her chest, its beating not terribly faster than usual but full of inconceivable force. It probably helps that moving much isn’t really in the cards; the only thing they had left to do without increasing their chances of falling was lean into each other. Daniel, though, keeps one hand on the counter, so some of the leaning she’d dreamed of having to expect isn’t happening, and being the one pressed into something, with nowhere else to go or reach, brought the sense of being the smaller, weaker person - which was not something with which Peggy was familiar. She’d never settled for that before, save for with Steve, because of the effects of the serum, but _he_ never had gained the attitude of an aggressor, and particularly because she was the only woman he ever was with at all, never was a man who saw and took an opportunity to take charge of a relationship, let alone in a physical way. It hadn’t taken much at all for him to blush or stammer, and it never much mattered, as she’d just about always been considered his superior by anyone who had an idea what they were talking about. She’d been the one to train him, for heaven’s sake; she'd been the reason he'd had half a clue what to do with his newfound physical capability.

Of course, as she’s known from the start, Daniel’s story went in the opposite direction: he’d played baseball, he’d taught his younger siblings to play, he’d even done track and field for a semester, before enlisting in the Army and quickly rising in rank through the entire time he was deployed - the last month or so notwithstanding. And here, in New York, as long as they’ve known each other, they’ve been equals. He’s never treated her as less than one, and seldom as more than one; and when he eventually and ever-so-gently starts easing into territory that’s more distinctly sexual, she’s less surprised by the fact that she feels comfortable letting him, well, 'play the man', than she is by the fact that he actually _is_ the one who makes that move.

Peggy decides to take a chance on that strength of his, and moves and straightens her arms significantly enough that she’s reasonably certain he’ll realize it’s not exactly following the natural progression of the kiss. His right hand is still behind her, and though his left is the one holding on to the counter it’s still close to her side, and when she starts bending her knees she can tell he’s on board because they both go to grasp her at the hips. 

She pops up onto the counter without issue (unless an arousal-heightening - and fairly literal - jump in the extent of her intimate knowledge of just how strong a soldier might get, supporting most of his body mass with his arms rather than his legs, could be considered one...but with the implied sequence of events that _she’s_ anticipating, though, she doesn’t imagine it’ll be a problem. In fact, it will likely be the precise _opposite_ of a problem.)

After she’s been on the counter a moment, Daniel lets gravity release his hold of Peggy’s hips, lets his palms trail down to the spot immediately above the crease where her thighs begin and their sides dip downward, lets his thumbs end up nigh-unbearably close to the hem of her coat where it’s taut above her legs like a wide green velvet tightrope, lets the tips of his fingers drift to where their slightest movements make her feel them at the seam of the fancy new panties she has on; without hesitation Peggy’s knees slide further apart, widening the gap of her legs and seating her more so on the edge of the counter than farther back. 

Able to move perhaps an inch or two closer, Daniel does, standing a bit taller as well, which Peggy only really notices when she first has to straighten her back and tilt her head more distinctly upwards for them to keep kissing with any significant intensity - which, for all his initial reticence, he is _incredibly_ good at - and it’s when she notes that he’s returned to solely touching her, and not the counter in tandem, that she decides to bring the next moment of truth upon them.

Grabbing Daniel’s hands is an experience unto itself; they’re larger than hers, more so than she’d expected, and very warm but all the more welcoming to hers - to _her_ , to so much of her so far, and as much as she can manage to beg for should she stoop to that - and also not particularly work-hardened, though she’s able to note the places that she imagines are those with which he grips his crutch. Unlike hers, too, they’re practically aimless once she’s pulled them off her - and entirely accepting of direction, like when she draws them closer again and lays her hands atop his as she slips one of her fingers inside the knot in the belt of her coat and pulls it loose. 

They’ve clearly gotten on the same page, now, because she doesn’t have to guide Daniel for him to begin undoing the coat’s buttons, so she takes the opportunity to dash her own fingers through the smaller buttons of his shirt, more efficient and intense than he, partly because she realizes she’s kept her own hands primarily to his shoulders, and as broad and strong and supportive as she’s found them, there is so much man, so much _Daniel_ , left, and so help her God, Peggy wants it _all_. 

The lack of his usual sweater vest is a help, certainly, and her nimble fingers make quick work of the soft cotton dress shirt, pulling up a similarly soft light blue undershirt with it when she starts tugging it out of its nicely-tucked position; the back of the shirt disagrees with her for a moment, and Daniel can’t help a chuckle when she doesn’t hesitate to pull harder. 

The question only sits on her brow for half a second.

“Enchantingly unceremonious, you are,” Daniel clarifies, his voice a murmur and his eyes so _gloriously_ full of light, almost like the stern, solemn, sad Daniel has melted away into something else...a Daniel who didn’t just know and use his strength, but seemed to be able to believe in it. Hopefully, a Daniel who was sure enough of his having permission to show love for her that he’d accept and take advantage of permission to _make_ love to her - but that still remained to be seen. 

But, Peggy had the Christmas present of all Christmas presents - well, two of them - in having the chance to test the hypothesis.


	9. Chapter 9

Peggy chuckles, pressing her palms down against the counter and absentmindedly running the tip of her tongue against her lips, which she realizes, in a flash of distraction, are now lacking the soft feel of lipstick atop them. 

“Enchantingly unceremonious,” she repeats gently. “Yes, well...I’ve recently noticed that subtlety hasn’t exactly been working in my favor.” 

Daniel purses his lips, enough so that it almost seems like he’s wincing at the remark, though that doesn’t seem entirely true - more like he’s thinking. (Not that she’d be surprised either way, of course.)

He confirms that a question’s coming when he reaches back toward the next of the buttons on her coat, curling a couple of fingers around it but not doing anything with it. 

“Are you...not actually wearing any clothing?”

Peggy sits up taller again, and purposely makes her smile comical, mostly to put shade rather than light onto the awkwardness she wishes wasn’t still here; she undoes one of the other two buttons left on her coat and tucks her fingers underneath his to finish the last, then shrugs in a manner that the body of the coat comes to rest open and no longer covering her. 

In the immediate aftermath, his apartment feels a bit cooler than she’d expected, but she still can feel herself blushing, even as a few goosebumps come to grace her now-uncovered thighs. 

“...Merry Christmas, Daniel.”

One of Daniel’s hands slides back to grabbing the counter’s edge as he laughs, his eyes closing and body angling away from the counter - away from her. 

“Of course, I hadn’t brought up any of this; if you’ve planned to wait for -” Peggy starts to add, hoping she does sound like she means it, not just like she’s embarrassed. 

“No, no...it’s not that, and certainly not you. I’m just...feeling increasingly foolish as the night goes on.” 

He laughs at himself again, but looks back up at her. She’s not entirely certain what all his expression consists of, but his voice sounds light, if a little self-deprecating.

“I mean, I’m...over here spending God-knows-how-much energy to come off as anything but a damn wolf, and you’re coming over _purposely_ wearing only lingerie.”

“Well, that’s not entirely _true._ It is Christmas lingerie, and I _have_ got a coat, and jewellery, and stockings, and….” she says teasingly, watching with a smirk as Daniel rolls his eyes at her and chuckles again. “Shoes.”

She tips herself backward slightly, the toe of her left shoe bumping into the bottom of Daniel’s left thigh, which remains closest to her. 

“Perhaps, it’s a sign you should refocus your energy,” she adds as innocently as she can, reveling in the understanding she _finally_ sees in the crease of Daniel’s grin. 

“You really _are_ done with subtlety, aren’t you?”

“Why, is it particularly off-putting?” she teases, and he crooks an eyebrow at her.

“Peggy...if irreverence and disdain for the status quo _were_ ‘particularly off-putting’ to me, we’d be nowhere close to this situation whatsoever.”

She thoughtlessly gives a somewhat girlier laugh at that, a tilt of her head tossing some of her hair as she does. By the time she meets Daniel’s eyes again a few seconds later, he’s shifted so as to be leaning into the counter some more. Without any words exchanged, concern furrows her brow and he nods gently - a notable annoyance showing through, with him not seeming to make much effort to conceal it - and then gestures back to the dining room. Peggy slides down to the floor, finding the moment’s journey down seems longer than the reverse; her coat’s pulled almost fully behind her, save for the sleeves. Practically in the same movement, she dips into a squat with the realization that Daniel’s crutch had been abandoned to the floor. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem _terribly_ surprised to have it handed to him without having had to ask.

He is, though, still surprised about her lingerie contraption, this red silk and lace number, with its deep neckline, and mint green thread, and fabric accents of candy canes - and a bow, sewn into the front of the panties, for obvious reasons. (He doesn’t yet know anything of its absurd price - one she’s now rather grateful to have Howard happy to front for her. The most unfortunate part was knowing that he’d feel that much more entitled to her explanation as to where on earth she’d gotten off to Christmas Eve, and with whom. He was officially working with the SSR, after all; she’d not escape the questioning. But hopefully, by tomorrow, she’ll have a good enough excuse to answer without giving a name.) 

Daniel shifts slightly to face her more, his left hand curling around her bare right hip with a strange mix of casualness, curiosity, and trepidation, and his right hand bordering on awkwardness in its grip on his crutch, maintained only to keep it standing, since he’s leaning into the counter.

She can’t help but feel more necessary but annoying conversation ahead, and tips forward on her toes to kiss him again, keeping in mind to stay gentle enough that they have a reasonable chance at staying in control of themselves. She eventually pulls away - but only to make as graceful an exit and segue as she can, maneuvering around him - and slowly starts backing out of the kitchen. 

Daniel unexpectedly denies her the graceful part, jerking her back in for another sharp kiss immediately after he’s turned fully around, and even laughing about having caught her off guard; she doesn’t stay annoyed longer than a moment, but insists on rolling her eyes as she drapes her arms down on top of his bare shoulders and yet again lets herself be pulled in. 

This kiss stays both hard and sweet, and Peggy doesn’t expect the way Daniel’s whole body reflexively grows taut and tense the moment she curls one of her fingers inside the space beneath his belt buckle; she decides to be the one to break her lips away, but she doesn’t go far at all, staying in place and close enough that he still hears her though her voice as it begins now is barely more than a concerned whisper.

“You haven’t-”

“Not since before…” he starts to answer, but seems to decide he’d rather hope she knows what he’s saying than have to put the event in words again. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Daniel.”

Peggy watches him try not to scoff in his refusal to agree with her, and momentarily considers trying to bite her tongue, a consideration thrown away when he actually contests her statement.

“Says the woman in my kitchen wearing barely more than underthings.”

“Who, if she did not want you precisely as the man you are, would not be here, let alone in a state of undress,” she says, echoing his tone, unwilling to let him get away with thinking she won’t fight him on matters of his pride. She’d snapped away after he’d tensed up at her touch, but she sets her arms back onto his chest now, just barely grazing his collarbones with her crimson fingernails.

“Don’t take that to mean I wish you to do something you’re uncomfortable with, but...just know that...the leg, it’s just another detail in a sea of details that I seek to know, that make you...Daniel. It’s not the grand sum of who you are, any more than the scars on my shoulder are all of me. It’s part of a picture, a kind, courageous, smart, very...very handsome picture.”

The subsequent dip of Daniel’s head doesn’t quite come with a sigh, nor with a blush, but Peggy does ultimately see his jaw set again in consideration.

“I have a feeling this will be logistically difficult,” he says carefully, his voice oddly blank.

“Car sex is logistically difficult,” Peggy wastes no time before rebutting. 

Daniel smiles like he’s about to laugh at himself again, but he doesn’t.

“That...that is true,” he nods, simultaneously pointing back at the dining room. She glances back in that direction, then realizes she’s not quite sure what he’s asking of her and looks back to him.

“Table. Sit. Give me a minute.”

“I’m not sure the table would be much easier than the counter.”

“It will. Or should, at least. I have an idea, I’m hoping it pans out.”

“Where there’s a will there’s a way,” Peggy smirks, stepping backwards again and softly sliding her hands down his arms, squeezing his hands before letting go of him entirely and meandering into the dining room and popping up onto the table, managing by some miracle not to break eye contact. 

As she adjusts her position on the table’s edge and tosses her coat aside she can hear just how desperately wet she’s become, and a second’s glance down through the gap to the visibly moist panties between her spread thighs further confirms it; she can but vaguely pray that whatever realization Daniel’s just come to might be the last for the time being. Even if he ultimately didn’t feel comfortable showing her the prosthetic or being inside her, surely it wasn’t likely he’d be opposed to Peggy relieving one or even both of them of the mounting need for intimacy. 

Apparently, however, he _is_ opposed - as she discovers when she’s clued into the plan, which seems to involve an attempt at breaking the world record length of time any individual man has gone between receiving a Christmas gift and unwrapping it; unfortunately, beneath any whining she might have or want to do, Peggy knows she walked right into that spiderweb of an idea - nor does _she_ have anywhere near enough self-control to protest Daniel’s intent to absolutely lavish her with attention. She oft _has_ dreamed of feeling his lips all over her, after all, and even in context and considering the select few spots he completely intentionally avoids - to her increasing dismay - the softly desirous, and dear _God_ , notably adept, manner with which he touches, kisses, and suckles her skin _is_ absolutely sublime.


	10. Chapter 10

He lets her wriggle and writhe until she’s growling at him, momentarily ashamed of himself for the bitch-stud metaphor that pops into his head because he knew all too well that this wasn’t animal and thoughtless, but in fact one of the things in recent time to which Daniel has devoted a great deal of thought. 

In his thoughts, though, in his horridly-timed daydreams and sleepless nights, he could be something different, if not someone else. He could meet her as a better man, one that could actually carry her over a threshold, or dance with her, or support his own body weight and be inside her at the same time, and without stopping to move to another room so that he wouldn’t fall and make a fool of himself. A man with perhaps half a chance of _being_ good enough to warrant _this._

No, there was no one left to kid. _No one_ had a chance at that. Not him, not Captain Rogers, not any saint he’d ever prayed to. It could only be a matter of choice - of Peggy’s choice - as if she planned on waiting for someone who legitimately deserved her she’d live her whole life unwed and alone. 

Not _unloved,_ no - Daniel doubts that his heart might ever beat again without the feeling of her hand on his cheek as it urged him into that very first kiss pulsing through his blood vessels. And he’ll certainly never forget any of this, from the way she’d blushed when he’d realized she’d only worn her coat, to the way she trembles with his tongue exploring her skin, to the faint mixture of the scents of strawberry shampoo and her perfume that he becomes acutely aware of when he presses his lips into her neck - and he hasn’t even tasted _her_ yet, hasn’t even gone near the so-called Christmas decorations that adorn her, hasn’t gone for the most sensitive, most needy parts of her yet.

And God, she _whimpers_ and it’s intoxicating - this woman of steel and silk and cherry lips, and willingly, wantonly, at his mercy, quivering even as that killer smile is still sitting upon her lips; and yet Daniel knows this image of her is but a glimpse, just a spark of what may well be what she becomes when the pantyhose, metaphorical or otherwise, come unravelled.

That so much of this moment was for him, that this was the middle ground en route to what she was after, that this allowance was meant in great part to reassure him that she could give up enough of herself to abandon the chase and let herself trust that he'd press on as he wished, that he'd still insist on her pleasure - that it was _him_ she wanted, regardless of what he was or was not able to give her.

Even the part of him that manages to see it as a well-constructed plot, though, knows that it works, because the fact remains that she _is_ here, in nothing but lingerie and heels, propped up on his dining room table barely a foot away from a half-eaten cake, moaning for the smattering of kisses he's scattered over her - her neck and collarbones, and stomach, and lower back, and ultimately, now, the remnants of her gunshot wounds...the unavoidable evidence that this is her that he's with, not some figment of anyone's imagination but God’s. Margaret _fucking_ Carter, the single most frustrating, most beautiful, most thrilling woman he's ever known.

Currently biting her lip and pressing her eyes shut, brilliant green eyeshadow just barely visible above her thick black lashes, and her head tilted backwards onto his shoulder, her almost-bare back not immediately against his chest but close.

Daniel’s prosthetic dangles off the side of the table, touching - but not quite heavy enough to need to be supported by - a chair, and as the moments he spends behind her pass, her otherwise unoccupied hands drift further and further up his thighs, high enough he can’t help but wonder if her plan involves getting a grip on his ass.

Not that he’d stop her anyway.

Besides, that just as easily would seem a scheme to urge him close and closer to officially taking her; she’s not there yet, but Daniel honestly wouldn’t be surprised to soon feel her scooting back, staking claim in his lap. It’s not as though it would take her any time at all to feel _his_ aching desire for it, either, or even as though that very desire was not itself a sign designating it and its possessor both reserved for her. 

And _oh,_ if the bow on the panties he just now lets one of his hands grace over bears the same significance, Daniel will never need a Christmas present again for the rest of his entire life. 

It’s barely even a touch, but Peggy’s whine is _real_ and _deep_ and her grips on his legs tighten and suddenly every one of his last reservations ceases to matter as they pale in comparison with the knowledge that she _wants_ him so very urgently.

He glances down at her back, and discovers that the brassiere’s clasp is in front; his subsequent kiss to Peggy’s shoulder is more teeth than tongue, as he curls one arm around her and pops one side of the clasp out of the other. Presumably because of being made well, Peggy has to actually shrug for the article to move anywhere, but the straps then roll over her shoulders and Daniel pulls the brassiere off and away entirely, setting it to the side with one hand as the other moves to cup the closest of her perfect breasts and elicits an unexpected but rewarding gasp.

When Daniel’s other hand returns to her, wrapping itself around her second breast, Peggy’s back arches against him and it takes each and every ounce of self-restraint that Daniel has left to maintain his resolve and keep from acting solely on impulse and rushing everything; apparently this was one dream of his that was turning to truth, and he wasn’t going to squander a second. If it was happening it was happening properly - with love, and attention, and with however much of Daniel’s sexual prowess still remained, and hope that it didn’t have to be his saving grace that she’d never known what of it there had been before. 

Not that he’d been wolfish or aggressive before, either, but at least he’d had a working pair of legs...though, as much of a difference as it’s made for him, it seems to make none to Peggy.

Did it _matter_ that she hadn’t known him before? 

Every time he’s seen her mourning Rogers in private, she’s looking at who _he_ was before - before he had any physical strength worth speaking of, back when he was sickly and unfit and skinny but still courageous and, despite the man he’d become, an icon, a model soldier, still the man that _Peggy Carter_ had loved.

Maybe he didn’t need to convince himself that she wasn’t settling for him out of unfulfilled need for something better in order to be the lover she clearly thought he could be. Maybe he just needs to believe that _she_ doesn’t see it as settling.

A soft, barely audible “Daniel,” brings him back to the moment - back to the pert nipples between his fingers and the warm body in front of his; without waiting for a response, though, Peggy lays her right hand atop his and pulls it away from her chest and down between her legs. The reason why becomes immediately clearer than a baby blue sky: she’s so wet that he feels it, even through the unusually thick fabric of her panties. Her unadulterated desperation gives him an excuse not to devote much thought to his reaction, and he doesn’t bother weighing any other options before slipping a pair of fingers below the layer of fabric and in between the dripping wet lips underneath. 

A long gasp pulls her tense against him, a couple of red fingernails pressing lines into the outer edge of his left thigh and an unmistakable smile darting across Peggy’s mouth, which widens with his slow, gentle strokes from her cunt to her clit; he does, for a second, wonder if those are the words she uses, but it passes quickly. Daniel holds back from what would usually have been reflexive shushing, realizing in time that he wants her to withhold nothing, not a single moan or groan or whine, and that she doesn’t seem to need reassuring that she’ll be all right, as do women who’ve been told that sex will inevitably hurt - a myth that Daniel both knows and takes pride in knowing is not the truth. 

This, though...this is what men who believe the myth miss out on: the sheer intensity of want and need that surrounds a couple when both are acknowledged, when she trembles against him and he kisses her shoulder and pushes himself inside, meeting her warmth and wetness and quite possibly purring, and she grinds down further to have as much of him, fingers, cock, or mouth, as she can. 

That, he knows to be a wonderful moment, and this - this, with Peggy’s curls dancing against the uppermost part of his chest and curses starting to slip from her mouth - is _glorious._


	11. Chapter 11

After an only somewhat surprisingly short while, they really do start to manage to have something of a rhythm. 

Peggy’s pressed herself closely enough up against Daniel that his right arm, curled around her side with the crease of its elbow resting on her hip, has little work to do for his forearm to lay flat against her pelvis, his hand visible through the red fabric of the panties underneath which it’s situated, little more than ripples, really, just the view of his knuckles as his fingers move inside her - long enough to be quite deep without much effort, which he only knows to be true from past experience, as he’d probably have an easy enough time regardless, with just how _incredibly_ wet Peggy is.

_And God, dear God in Heaven whom Daniel clearly had_ not _wronged, it’s so surreal thinking it - that_ this _, by some brilliant twist of fate, was somehow reality._

Peggy, _the_ Peggy of his dreams, nightmares, and workdays, wet and wanting and _with him._ The occasional flutter of _his_ name off her lips, blissfully and bountifully confirming her awareness and enthusiasm. The rolling of her hips drawing his fingers further into her warmth, and the bouncing of her breasts that follows, all the more fluid for the persistence of her gentle undulation. 

But then, her movement is sharp, determined and, although not quite desperate, clearly not all that calculated, either, as she angles her upper body back towards him and hitches her hand all the way up his thigh, nearly wrapping her hand around him from outside his dress pants but pausing after having done little more than press his length tighter against his thigh. 

_Waiting for permission._

“You’ve barely let me do much of anything,” Peggy says, her voice just a murmur against his lips.

“Thought this was _my_ Christmas present.”

She laughs lightly, but she bites her lip, absentmindedly tilting her head downward in a way that angles her mouth just a little bit closer to his and evinces that not only is her breathing heavy but she’s blushing and that, the realization that she _wants_ him, wants even more than the sweet kisses or deep kisses or even her own pleasure, but with a lascivious, needy sort of totality, that was more than enough pull for him to get pretty keen on some change.

Yes, it might be _his_ present, but what greater thing had he ever imagined than having the chance to deny _her_ nothing? No part of him, no effort, no indulgence? How deeply and horribly he had hoped for a chance at being the provider - or, God willing, the object - of her fancy, and here she was, and for every second that it seemed far too spectacular to be true there was another that was achingly real. And hot _damn_ , this ache, unlike what he was all too well-accustomed to, was more magnificent than it was awful; Daniel’s appetite didn’t _have_ to be sated for the night to have been a dream come true. 

But, regardless of Daniel’s tendency to pretend he could ignore his appetite, to just shove it off to a later and lonely moment, Peggy was making hers known - and thus emphasising Daniel’s desire too acutely _not_ to incite him to action. 

Not that she quite realizes that’s what’s happening at first: it’s almost laughable, actually, how much a relief it is that Peggy pauses, an anxious, unhappy look on her face, when he pulls his hand out of and away from her, gently urging her ass further forward on the table with something he can’t quite call a grip but can’t really call anything else either; she seems startled by the sudden decrease in contact, but Daniel’s disbelieving smile draws a crease in her brow soon afterward, one curious but also knowing, one with half an idea what he’s thinking. 

Trusting that he wanted her enough to renounce his own unease, his own self-doubts, for the sake of mutual hunger. And the truth was, neither of them knew just what exactly they were in for; he might not know the particulars of sex with (without?) his prosthetic, but no one else did, either, and clearly, Peggy was willing to discover them alongside him. 

Well, astride, most likely, not alongside - but Daniel reminds himself the point remains and scoots himself back off the table, by pushing Peggy just far enough forward and himself just far enough back that he can move his foot and his good leg to the floor, and turning slowly until he’s above the chair on which he’d rested his considerably-less-good leg. Echoing her earlier descent from the counter in his kitchen, Peggy pops off the table without a second’s hesitation, barely giving Daniel the chance to seat himself down in the chair before her heels are wavering gently and all-too-quietly on the off-white carpet of the dining room; slightly ahead of him, and still in the business of raising questions to be answered at some later, more convenient, time, Peggy and her nimble fingers have gotten his belt buckle and the button and zipper of his trousers undone before he knows it. 

Her very obvious pause, though, worries him momentarily, but the answer that he finds in her eyes is a question - permission again.

Well, the chance to deny her nothing of him _was_ his Christmas present, wasn’t it?

The moment that Daniel nods to grant her the permission she’s asking for is marked by Peggy leaning forward from her hips and kissing him, his hands lazily grazing her shoulders as she follows through with pulling off his dress pants and the briefs underneath with them, and his shoddy, peripheral view of her red fingernails as she confidently takes him in hand. The moment subsequent, in contrast, by the clenching of his stomach in its automatic attempt not to add any harshness to the experience with more insistence than necessary, then the strange chill of the dining room air when Peggy pulls her lips away from his again, and the uncharacteristic gentleness and coyness she wears as she swings down to her knees and starts licking at the head of his cock. 

She waits, too long for his taste, before looking back up again, meeting his eyes with a smile and then completely unexpectedly taking him down further, not quite all the way but far enough that he feels the back of her throat as he closes his eyes with a helpless moan. His body realizes before his brain does that he’s allowed to move, and by the moment he starts consciously thinking about that he has to catch up as well to the fact that Peggy is more than willing to satisfy any needy thrusting whatsoever. And for the love of everything good in the world that’s ever been, she does it _staggeringly_ well - not that he’d expected her not to have experience, let alone to be a virgin, as so few people their age were these days, anyway, but experience and expertise are rather different phenomena, and he also _hadn’t_ expected the latter. 

He really is grateful to have thought of the chair, because he absolutely would _not_ have made it trying to sit up on the table; when he thinks of it, he’s not actually sure how long he’ll make it here in the chair, either, though _that’s_ in another context. 

Peggy’s eyes are closed again. Daniel slips his fingers into her hair, partly with intent and partly because he just feels like it, and she looks up at him; the gentlest of urging is, surprisingly, all it takes for her to stand back up, leaning in for another kiss.

Another fantastic, breathtaking - for all he knows, entirely life-changing - kiss - and this time, he tastes himself on her tongue, too.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone in the Peggysous Trash Can Club who voted on and discussed the sex position question! Enjoy ;)
> 
> ETA: minor changes because of prosthetic info.

Realizing he's paid them no further attention, Daniel raises the two fingers of his right hand, still slick with Peggy's arousal, to his lips, tilting Peggy out of their kiss with a gentle turn of her chin with his left hand to take them in his mouth and suck them free of their stickiness, leaving them just a bit damp with saliva and savoring the unique sort of sweetness. Focusing on his actions and her taste for the time being, Daniel almost misses the spark that follows, but he’s grateful not to miss that glimmer of blue hot lust streaking her bright brown eyes, which alternate between meeting his and watching him intently.

Before Peggy can decide to take the opportunity to return to giving him direction, Daniel slips both his hands inside either side of Peggy's panties, his palms against her hips as he curls the fabric over itself. She lifts up her legs in swift succession to let him do the job of pulling the garment down and off her legs, grabbing tighter onto his shoulder as her stockings follow in hot pursuit of the floor; she kicks off her heels only long enough for him to unroll the stockings, but slides her feet back into them soon afterwards. He’s the one to recapture her in a kiss this time, one soft and tender at first and quickly swelling into one deep and hot and needy. 

Even just considering how hard he is, Daniel hates that he knows there’s something in the way. Oh, how he wishes this were as simple as it had been. Of course, this had already proven better than any time before but that’s nothing to do with him and everything to do with the lips against his being Peggy’s; she herself was divine, and that _had_ to make all the difference.

It certainly makes a difference as to what it feels like to have nails dragged down his torso - the movement is gentle and not painful except in a strangely nice and probably unavoidable way, but he’s trying to figure out what he’s going to do with himself and having Peggy’s hands wandering where they please isn’t particularly helpful for his focus. 

By whatever magic they’re graced with tonight, though - perhaps he’ll later joke about the Spirit of Christmas, should he remember - she seems to realize that, and instead of pressing forward with anything, maneuvers herself to be sitting sideways on his lap, much like many women do when they’re out with their partners, aside from the facts that she makes the conscious effort to be on his left leg and that neither of them is particularly clothed. All that remains, between them, after all, are her high heels and necklace, and his dress pants and briefs, and shoes and socks underneath them. The leg, also, if taking it off made more sense, but Daniel has no idea how he’s really meant to judge that. 

Peggy drapes her left arm over him, drawing herself closer against his chest.

“Just tell me what you think would work best. What would let you be most comfortable?”

“I have...pretty much no idea.”

She doesn’t miss a beat.

“Extremely helpful input, Daniel. Characteristically insightful.”

He rolls his eyes, partly at her deadpanning and partly at her point, and lets his left hand settle atop her knees. She leans into his shoulder, and even though he still feels her wetness against his leg he’s reassured by her willingness to adapt a slower pace than she quite clearly would prefer.

“You _do_ sleep in a bed, don’t you?”

Daniel groans. 

“That is...very far away right now.”

“Point taken,” she nods. “Still, as long as you aren’t putting much weight on the prosthesis it should be manageable, right, especially if I’m doing most of the work?”

“I don’t want to ex-”

Peggy clamps her hand over his mouth, and from her raised eyebrows - a frighteningly maternal sort of look, really - he can tell she knows precisely where that was going. He pushes out the tip of his tongue and quickly licks her palm, and she laughs, enough so that she tilts forward and it musses her hair a bit. 

“If you haven’t noticed already, I am _volunteering._ You aren’t allowed to pretend you’re imposing anything on me, Daniel. Entirely not allowed. Not tonight, not ever.” 

It’s a good point, one he’s not sure he can live up to, but he _is_ sure that she’s not giving him a choice about that matter, and he nods. When she’s content enough with his response, she slides her hand back down around his neck and leans in to kiss him again, and he’s taken aback again with the surrealness of the moment, with the reality of having Peggy on top of and around him, his arm slung casually about her as though that were something with which he’s familiar. 

_Maybe someday I will be._

He can’t help but think about it - about how absolutely wonderful that might be, a life where this closeness was not just thrilling but common to his life.

 _Wait, what if…_

He wraps his left hand around her right knee, and with his right hand against the small of her back and a couple less well-calculated movements, she pivots herself so she’s facing him entirely, right in front of his chest in all her glory, her hands against his neck and her legs down off the sides off the chair - and, carefully, in the middle of his thighs, where she’s not pressing against either his hard cock or the connection between his prosthesis and his stump. Waiting, because apparently she was better at that than she seemed to be.

At least, just better enough for this to stand a chance at working. 

“Are you keeping all this as is, or do you want me to do something about it?” she asks, referring without gesture to the clothes of his still slung around his knees. He only needs a few seconds of consideration to decide to leave things as they are for the most part, but Peggy does help him shove his trousers and briefs down his legs so they’re as loose as they can be. Then, somehow, she scoots him slightly forward in the chair, standing up where she is by just lowering her heels to the carpet; it takes Daniel a moment to realize that she’s thinking about her own leverage. She’s still standing when she kisses him again, and when he pushes fingers back into her, more out of habits long since developed than out of questioning, and when he rubs against her with his hardness and she whines at him, her body tensing up in wanting and their kiss broken for concentration as she puts her hand on his and they guide his cock inside of her together. 

Like when she’d been working him with her mouth, she takes all of him almost immediately, sitting as deep in his lap as possible, using her gasp and his sigh to push herself down, with a thoughtful adeptness he can attribute only, and only vaguely, to expertise of which he knows precious little. 

Stories for another day, and the chance to be thankful for whatever failures of the boys before Rogers had driven them from Peggy’s life, he supposes, and wraps his hands around her hips, pulling her chest and stomach against his as she slowly starts to move around him.


	13. Chapter 13

Peggy would be lying to say she’s lacking in sexual experience, but this time, to her knowledge, is the first that she’s found herself close to overwhelm solely from the sensation of fullness. The strangeness of it comes partly from knowing that while Daniel is on the bigger side - at least, in terms of cocks she’s had - he isn’t large enough for that to have been a cause for any concern (which that usually would have been, going by her past experiences), she moves slowly enough at first that by the second time she’s properly come back down into Daniel’s lap and reflexively gasped at his bottoming out that she wonders if maybe it’s that _they_ just _fit_ together. 

It sounded like the sort of thing Daniel might say if she brought it up, actually, that perhaps God had made them that way, made them _just so_...precisely like this, really, seemingly with torsos the same length so their eye levels were even and it was effortless maintaining a kiss while she was on top of him and, even more than she was capable of articulating to herself at the time, bodies that as wholes, as _a_ whole, seemed to fill in any blanks. Even slower, more breathless moments, are more savory than awkward, which gives her an excuse to be okay with them that she’s glad to take; she’s used to pushing herself, pushing her partner to finish and being content with a job well done, but when it’s Daniel’s eyes on her and lips on hers and strong arms around her, she feels no pressure for that. As much as she’s aware she wants to bring him to it, she’d honestly rather put his orgasm off and stay entwined like this for as long as she can - and honestly, after the night she’s put him through, he’s probably close to begin with, and most likely has been for some time. 

The need, though, with which Daniel’s touching and kissing her, she notices, isn’t the sexual sort of need. She feels that, too, especially after he’s accepted that Peggy can _handle_ whatever it is he gives her, however hard and deep and desperate it is, but there’s something _beneath_ it, something spiritual and bubbling with reverence. 

One time, as she’s straightening her thighs upward to widen the angles of her legs and pull up off of him a bit, Daniel decides to trade his shallow kisses against her lips for the press of his lips and swirl of his tongue against her collarbone, and after Peggy whimpers her stomach turns with the realization that she doesn’t know whether perhaps that soul-deep feeling isn’t the love she’s long since been dreaming of. 

She gets half a second to wonder how she’d ever investigate the theory before Daniel’s mouth and hands move to caress her breasts and she loses all hope of focus on anything besides exactly what they’re both doing at the present moment - on things like the serene delicacy with which Daniel poises his lips around her left nipple, drawing from her a throaty moan as he suckles it, and the smile that she feels grace her skin as he continues. 

Peggy soon becomes acutely aware of one of the last feelings she could have expected: novelty.

It’s not as though she’s never undressed for a man, not as though she’s never had one inside her, not as though she’s never shuddered from a lover’s touch, but there’s something - in the air, perhaps, or maybe the champagne - that makes being _here_ , with _Daniel_ , kneeling on a chair in _his_ dining room, makes _this_ night not just different, but _new._ If her brain weren’t quite so busy, she’d probably be scared, scared of just what exactly this will mean come morning or the New Year or their return to work and yet, she’s being taken by the thought that she feels remarkably invulnerable; she’s _aware_ of her nakedness, _aware_ of her gyration and Daniel’s hands and lips and cock, and the edge of his thigh that her ass brushes a couple times where she can feel the thigh end and the factory-made knee begin, and _everything else_ , and _all over and against and inside her_ , but there’s no longer a note of scandal, a tone of impropriety...just... _rightness._ Something intangible, with more weight than want or need alone, but featherlight all the same, illuminated by every kiss and thrust and touch like every part of them united with some part of the other person’s is a ray of sunlight...or something equally cheesy that Peggy would normally never think about. 

Like how adorably Christmassy it is that it’s started bloody _snowing._

She only catches a glimpse out the window but she gasps without realizing it and Daniel’s the one to chuckle about it after following her gaze.

“I guess God says ‘Merry Christmas’,” he whispers, momentarily slowing Peggy’s movement with heavier hands against her hips, and meets her eyes again; for at least the couple seconds she gives it attention her smile is wide enough to ache a little, but she tilts back down to kiss him again and _other_ aches come back into focus.

“Yes, I guess He does,” she whispers back.


	14. Chapter 14

Daniel lasts longer than she might have expected, which is actually saying quite a lot, and which she assumes must have to do with the fact that their focus tonight has tended towards enjoyment of - finally - being together...more biblical than carnal, vastly different from her previous experiences - and again, more so than she might have expected. Even Daniel’s basest reactions came with tenderness, like the way his fingers had run ever-so-gently through her hair before grabbing hold of it when he was enjoying the way her mouth felt around his cock too well not to brace himself against something, and the way he’d still been careful not to hold her hair back in a way that was likely to pull at her scalp and hurt her, even though that sort of pain was most often little more than annoyance. 

Telling, too, of that nature, is that as his breathing grows shallower and his body tense enough to be practically still, he pulls his hands from around her thighs and up to her waist, ensuring that when his grip on her subsequently grows tighter he’s leaving up to her what she wants to do. 

She rolls her hips harder and sits as deep in his lap as possible, clenching her dripping sex around Daniel’s cock not a moment too soon to be the action that elicits both the telltale throbbing, pulsing feeling inside her and a guttural groan, which Peggy bites her lip to keep herself from cutting short with a kiss, waiting until she’s left with warm empty space inside her where he’d been to lean in that little bit closer and suck his bottom lip inside her mouth; Daniel needs no additional incentive to answer with an immediate deepening of what little kiss that is.

It can’t be a full minute later when Daniel drapes an arm underneath her pelvis again and starts back on stroking her slit with the pads of his fingers. She tenses up even more, and so automatically, that it’s hard to push any actual words out of her mouth even though she’s still full of whines and moans, but she manages a small, curious, “what are you doing?”

Daniel’s voice is louder, but barely heavier than hers, when he replies, his hand slipping annoyingly up closer to the small of her back.

“ _You_ haven’t come yet, Peg.”

“I...well, no...”

He pulls back from her; both the hand around her waist and the one around her neck, pull her hair back as he maneuvers to be able to look her in the eyes, his expression more offended than anything else that she can see.

“You’ve never-”

“Not...with a partner, no,” she murmurs, feeling embarrassed now even though she’d not dwelled on the detail earlier at all. Most men didn’t even believe women were capable of reaching orgasm, and even many who did weren’t exactly willing to bother to try. Even Peggy had never demanded it; it could be a complicated enough task for her, let alone for a lover. 

Clearly Daniel had different ideas about what did and did not constitute intercourse.

“That...surprises you?”

“I mean...thinking on it maybe not, but...personally I’ve always treated sex as an exchange and sharing of pleasure, not…’woman gives, man takes, man smokes cigarette, puts hat back on and leaves.’”

Slightly less embarrassed at the reminder that even now, Daniel was still so very _Daniel,_ Peggy lets herself chuckle, her cheek settling afterwards against his shoulder. His hands don’t quite know where they want to be for a moment, and tickle her back as they softly move about, until Daniel makes a decision and firmly grasps her by the hips. Peggy bites her lip and grinds down against him so automatically that it almost feels like it’s not even her body doing so; but only almost, because her heart’s making a concerted effort to match up with the throbbing desperation of her cunt and she’s far too needy to have any facade of feeling like somebody or something else.

She’s tentative when Daniel pushes her hips back and in doing so urges her down his legs and off of him, but she still moves with him as he guides her back up onto the table. He slides his hands slowly down the sides of her thighs, leaning forward to suck one of her nipples into his mouth until his hands reach her knees, and then going for the other as he moves his fingers to her inner thighs and then back up her legs, half-pushing them away from each other again even though Peggy doesn’t need any compulsion to open up. He doesn’t look up at her but she watches him cautiously, curiously, and eventually moves her arms behind her, setting her palms down onto the chilly wooden table - instead of one of its place settings - to give herself a better chance at balance with her legs spread and Daniel’s lips now starting to trail down her abdomen. 

Daniel only leaves a couple of kisses on the insides of each of her thighs before licking her right one; that turns out to be the action that elicits a proper, high-pitched yelp, and then finally flickering his eyes back up to meet hers, he moves his tongue to her clit without breaking eye contact, and licks her there even more gently, responding to her body’s reflexive shuddering by wrapping his arms around her thighs and pressing on. With nearly each shiver, whimper, moan, or cry he tightens the grip, ultimately to the point where it fastens Peggy in place with Daniel’s increasingly _hungry_ , smiling mouth settled - and, she can’t help but think, happily right at home - against her.


	15. Chapter 15

Peggy’s never before had the chance to be on the receiving end of such intentional or intense pleasure as this. A few past men - well, boys back then at those given occasions - had purported to know ways to bring a woman to finish, but for all the boasting none had actually succeeded in proving themselves, at least not to Peggy, and then there had been those men who didn’t even think women capable of reaching peak, the likes of whom she can only explain having been with by reminding herself that it’s taken much of her life thus far to get to the point where she rebukes men with whom she works, let alone men whose company she prefers to keep in other contexts. A couple of women were interspersed in Peggy’s history, but physical pleasure never bore the same weight nor was ever as goal-oriented as when with the opposite sex. 

Yet, even with this particular experience having begun with the naming of a fairly clear goal on Daniel’s part, that sense is notably absent. 

Not that Peggy’s really able to parse out precisely what’s happening, because she’s really quite a bit busy at the present, but she notices enough to form some conclusions. (She might be _utterly_ Daniel’s dame right now, with the vast, vast majority of her attention dedicated to their stomach-flipping coupling, but she _is_ still a spy, for heaven’s sake!)

Conclusion one is that there’s nothing to be proven. Daniel _wants_ her to feel that notorious ecstasy, _wants_ to keep his arms around her, _wants_ to _know_ that she’s enjoying his efforts not for ego’s sake but to see her broad, trembling smile, _likes_ tasting her slick arousal on his lips and tongue and doesn’t have qualms about dizzying her madly; even his hands, when they paw at and play with her breasts, convey more… _appreciation_ than anything else that Peggy can put a finger on, aside from the deepest, most basic layer of desire which, she can see, drives him still.

Conclusion two is that she wants never to come undone, if only for the sake of prolonging this very moment. 

Conclusion three, the jealousy that momentarily strums through a part of her stomach when she realizes that someone had to teach him at some point; by her own reasoning she’s far from the only woman who’s had the honor of revelling in Daniel’s reciprocity.

Conclusion four is that she desperately wants to be the _last._

Her fifth and final conscious conclusion comes with the discovery of their breathing being matched; Peggy still can see the sparkle of awe in Daniel’s eyes when they yet again meet hers, his fingers sliding off her hips to twine themselves together with hers, and an exhale of hot air tickling her exposed and tender clit, and there’s a wave of certainty that comes to drown her doubts, whispering into her bloodstream that the chance really is _hers_. Hers alone, fantastically and perfectly and mind-blowingly hers. His? Theirs. Some...some combination, and for a moment it feels like they’re one and the same, Daniel’s arms wrapped under and around her thighs, holding her throbbing sex against his mouth even as her body fills with warmth and shivers and tension, filling her until she can barely breathe and then bubbling over climax before toppling into exhaustion. 

Her entire body bears an unfamiliar sense of frailty, but before she can so much as form a remark on the strangeness, Daniel wordlessly wraps his arms underneath her legs and scoops her up, hoisting her off the table and back into his lap. Her clit unintentionally rubs against the thigh of his underneath it and she whimpers in realization that it _hurts_ and it’s just far too much; it’s the first and single time that night that she hears Daniel mutter a comforting “shh,” and it comes with a small smile to crease her lips. Peggy quickly starts to settle into his arms, but he stops her with a gentle hand at her collarbone when she begins to snuggle into his side. 

“We _would_ be more comfortable in bed, if you’d like.”

“Thought you said it was too far away,” she muses teasingly, but scoots herself backwards and then up onto her own, albeit somewhat wobbly, feet.

“I’ll survive if you will,” Daniel retorts without missing a beat, starting to stand up after her, and she only smirks and lays one hand on his closest shoulder as she gives him a moment to manage that, before dipping down and squatting to give herself an easy time at grabbing his crutch and at pulling his briefs and dress pants back up to where they supposedly belong. 

Not where she prefers them, but she’s not _quite_ crazy enough to keep from admitting that in some situations being at least somewhat dressed will have to do...even though not among them is Daniel mouthing ‘thank you’ and Peggy subsequently pulling him close again with a hand to his neck and an unintentionally sloppy kiss that reminds her of the slickness remaining on her thighs and around her cunt, which tightens momentarily in a reflex of remembrance and lasting desire. 

“You’d damn well better.”

It’s half a plea and half a joke, and Daniel clearly catches on, because he twines the fingers of his right hand through those of her left and brings her hand up to his lips, cupping it then in his other and planting a couple of kisses on top of it, tickling her soft skin with leftover wetness.

“Your wish, my command,” he declares, casually enough that she imagines it’s possible he’s previously wondered what she’d say to an announcement of such commitment. She feels _something_ flicker in her expression, and she’s pretty sure Daniel sees it, too, but she can’t name it for what it is. 

“Is that so?” Peggy replies, trying and failing not to seem _terribly_ suggestive.

He nods, but adds, “what _is_ it you’re asking of me?”

Her breath shakes as she begins her sentence, but she doesn’t allow herself the chance to question her words, even though they’re higher-pitched and less refined than usual. 

“Tell me, and honestly, that...that this means I’m yours now...and you’re mine, and we’re done pretending that we don’t want...or...need so much more than the...version of friendship we’ve been allowing ourselves. That even though things are still...complicated...we’re both willing to do what we can to make...being _together_ work.”

As they both remain standing steadily - well, as steadily as they _can_ \- in the dining room, not only another swell of happiness but the chivalry that often glimmers in Daniel’s attitude makes a reappearance, if not out of pride then to quell Peggy’s nervousness. 

“Just your luck, there’s something of a throne in my heart with your name on it. It, um, it’s been there a little while, so I’ll have to do some dusting, but you - I am certainly yours, and would be… _honored_ and _ecstatic_ to have you decide that the reverse is true. And despite things that I might worry I _can’t_ give you, my best effort has never been and will never be one of them.” 

Peggy can’t help a giddy smile, and they share a moment with a sweet laugh of delight and disbelief, in quiet confirmation of the promise; even her move to push some stray hair out of her face has an air of feeling girlish and silly and uncharacteristically smitten, but her nerves are better off for her new ability of knowing, seeing, leaning into Daniel’s own omnipresent, effervescent, enamoredness. 

She slides her hand into his, stepping a bit closer to where he’s standing and then even closer when the fingers of his free hand move up her other arm, only gentle enough to tickle the hairs on her skin but enough to magnetically draw her in towards him with something of a twirl; that arm presses into him and curls upwards, fingertips upon his shoulder and forearm resting against the taut muscles of his chest while she twines the fingers of their joined hands more tightly together, a gesture Daniel easily greets in kind. Still, the loss of body heat as she moves from the bliss of orgasm to the bliss of devotion leaves her cooler than she’d like, and it gives Peggy an excuse to tell herself when she lets go of his hand and circles back to the side of the dining room table, bending down - able to feel Daniel’s eyes longingly continuing to drift over her - to grab the couple remaining clothing items discarded to the floor, aside from her brassiere, which has fallen off the other side of the table, but is unnecessary enough that she doesn’t care to maneuver over to fetch it.


	16. Chapter 16

Daniel starts to rifle through a drawer, and Peggy meanders into the middle of the room, curiously glancing around. The stool beside the side of the bed closest to the door is the only thing she notes as evidence of the prosthetic; the bed itself is surprisingly large, perhaps even queen-sized, and it doesn’t match much of the furniture. Actually, almost none of the furniture matches, but Peggy really only notices because she looks; it may be her bias but the room does have a charm that lets it look like it’s come together quite well regardless. The wood of the four-poster is a dark chestnut, the bedside table is painted light blue, the stool is painted deep red, the chest of drawers is a light oak sort of color, and the doors of the closet are the same sandy color as the walls. 

“You…” Daniel starts and stops in the middle of a thought, and Peggy swirls around to see him as he stands himself straight up again, “you don’t have any other clothes, do you? Of any kind.”

Peggy can feel herself blush, but she’s not sure why, really. They had already had sex, after all. _In his dining room._

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Were you thinking you’d just go home, then? Have Jarvis pick you up?” 

He’s thoughtful, deeply enough so that she can tell he’s a few questions behind what he’s actually thinking about - gauging her response.

“I took a taxi over, was planning on getting one back, didn’t really think beyond that. Granted, I _was_ a little preoccupied with devising ways to seduce you,” she teases, but then she realizes she doesn’t know what he’s asking.

“Would you _like_ me to go home?” Peggy says, trying not to let her voice get too soft and uncertain.

Daniel winces. 

“Oh, I...walked right into that. No, no, I was _actually_ thinking I’d ask you to join me at church.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps gently, more startled than anything else. “Well, that - I mean, as I said earlier this week I really haven’t _been_ to church in some time, but...I think that would be lovely.”

Daniel grins. “Good. Well, provided we find something besides a coat for you to wear.”

“Something I won’t have to apologize to Jesus for.”

“Preferably, yes, although I will admit I’m slightly more wary of the standards of the congregation on the matter, as opposed to Jesus himself.”

Peggy nods.

“As sacrilegious as that sounds,” adds Daniel, and realizes she’s still holding his dress shirt and tie, curled between her arms; he moves closer and takes them from her, and then surprises her by swinging the shirt around and over her, helping her ease her arms into the sleeves but leaving it unbuttoned. 

“But this’ll do for now.”

Peggy tilts her head the slightest bit upwards, getting them a little closer and their eyes meeting again.

“Daniel Sousa, do you have a slight possessive streak?”

“Sort of depends on the context of that question, Peg. Personally, I prefer to think of it as an attitude of devotion, but if you’re partial to other terminology, I will certainly accept suggestions,” Daniel replies softly, only half joking, wrapping his free arm loosely around her, slipped underneath the light fabric of the dress shirt.

“Call it whatever you want, as long as you keep showing it,” she murmurs, the air around the room magnetic and full of nothing but their breath and her voice, carrying every word not only away from but all over them, tickling her skin with warmth and fervor and the sparkling of Daniel’s smiling eyes. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees without effort or deliberation, and leans in and kisses her gently; their lips are still wet and she still tastes herself on his, but even with her yet-uncovered chest pressing into Daniel’s, this particular moment’s reverence keeps the embrace sweet and nonsexual. 

Daniel pauses, and almost pulls back, at the sound of knocking at the door, but waits to hear what turns out to be a chorus of youthful cries for ‘Danny’ before he rolls his eyes with a chuckle and steps away. Peggy wraps the dress shirt more tightly around herself and sits down on the edge of the bed, letting Daniel pull on a sweater and excuse himself back to the living room. She can barely hear him when he starts talking, but he sounds excited and it keeps a smile on her face; after a couple minutes she scoots so that she’s by the head of the bed, leaning against a pillow as though she was curling up to fall asleep.

She considers it for a moment, but then Daniel calls out her name and she sits back up, soon relieved to find that the supposed summons was just a preface for his coming back over. 

“My next-door neighbors are here, and are...interested in recent developments. Pam is willing to lend you some clothes if you’d be okay with that.”

“Ah, ‘Pam with the twins who think you’re their uncle’ Pam,” Peggy realizes, and Daniel nods. “I believe my coat is on the kitchen floor.”

“I’ll be back,” he winks, and Peggy slides over to the side of the bed facing the door; Daniel only goes a meter or two over to the doorway separating the living room from the hallway that lead to the bedroom and bathroom.

“First one o’ you two that finds me my girlfriend’s pretty green coat gets an extra piece of candy after church!” he declares, and Peggy laughs at the sound of a sigh from a woman who must be Pam. Bribing the twins, however, is indeed a very efficient way of completing the task, and Peggy would bet it’s only a minute or two before he’s helping her put it back on.


	17. Chapter 17

Daniel only gets a moment of peace alone after Pam whisks Peggy away, twins at their heels, before his phone rings. He waits a couple seconds and sighs on his way over to grab it; the slurred “Junior” that comes out as soon as he’s pulled the receiver to his ear tells him damn near everything he needs to know.

He lets his father talk anyway, even though it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before: dinner party, whiskey, snowstorm, still in Boston. Gonna sleep off the hangover and head in when the weather calms down. Daniel doesn’t have kids yet, even though he should, so it’s not like there’s anyone to show up on time for. 

Yep, Daniel’s heard this whole speech before, except for the part where it’s Christmas Eve. 

Daniel’s gaze reflexively darts toward the clock above the stove.

_Shit...make that Christmas._

Well, hey, if his dad was a no-show, there was no reason he and Peggy couldn’t just go to the ten o’clock service with Pam and the twins, right?

_He and Peggy._

_Damn, that’s gonna take a hot minute to get used to._

He couldn’t wait. 

And, wonderfully enough, he barely has to - for her to come back, at least; and clearly either one or both of the women are on the same page as Daniel about the service times, as Peggy’s coat hangs open over a nightgown, an elegant green velvet dress of Pam’s that Daniel vaguely remembers draped over one of her arms, and their mouths chattering miles a minute even once they’re actually inside his apartment again.

(Not that the rapport surprises him, since Peggy has a tendency to get on easily with people and Pam’s quite personable, but meeting Pam and the twins is almost more like meeting family than meeting his actual father will be and that’s another line covered in the romantic relationship checklist that he hadn’t expected to be crossing.)

“You were already planning on mass later, too, weren’t you, Daniel?” Pam does ask eventually, and he nods tentatively, noticing along with Pam that Peggy nods as well. 

“Apparently, we will _not_ be joined by my father and his wife, but especially considering I’ve missed the midnight vigil, yes, that’s the thought.”

“Then just come to the ten o’clock with us; don’t worry about getting up for eight.”

She turns back to Peggy, putting a hand out expressively.

“The twins may well end up waking you and God-knows-who-else, and in plenty of time. They’re very excited to be able to get real presents again this year. Nothing they got during the war was shiny and new, but the times are changin’!”

“Well, I hope no one gets cross with them,” Peggy muses sweetly. 

“You must like kids,” Pam declares, with a strange sort of look that Daniel unfortunately doesn’t find himself able to read. “All too many people don’t. I suppose I won’t question further; I should let you two get a few moments’ worth of sleep, right?”

She hugs them both, departing with an all-too-obvious wink, and Daniel chuckles and wishes her a Merry Christmas as he’s shutting the door behind her.


	18. Chapter 18

Daniel’s sure it’s the spy’s attention span that’s coming in handy for Peggy when she insists on being the one to do much of the tidying up of the dining room and kitchen, but sitting on the couch fondly watching gives him the chance to think, too, about the familiarity he craves being able to see in the way she works her way around _his_ apartment. 

_In a nightgown._

(Not that a nightgown was anything scandalous, but sleepwear in particular reflected a person’s intention, and it’s a deeply warm feeling knowing that she’s really decided to stay, not just for drinks, but through the night.)

Still, even with the soft pink nightgown and with her hands deft, dexterous, and delightfully visible from afar because of the red polish on her nails, it’s hard to imagine Peggy as something other than deliciously dangerous - as someone soft and saccharine and maternal, someone that fit the housewife bill in any manner. Even seeing her cleaning seems strange, though he knows, of course, that any single person has to clean up after themselves anyway. Almost everything feminine about her tended to feel like part of the act, just another way she fooled people into letting their guards down around her. But was she _more_ like this when her guard was down? 

It hurts to realize that it’s the only time she really could be: she never asks for help at work, she cries alone in the file room, she winces when even Jarvis offers her assistance. He knows she has at least one legitimately close friend, but while she and Angie lived together, Peggy still didn’t have half the emotional outlets that Daniel did, and he knows _he_ wouldn’t have made it this long after the war if _his_ primary stress relief had come through whiskey and espionage. Besides, one’s occupation and their hobbies were generally supposed to remain separate - but at least Peggy never had claimed to have any skill in keeping herself from taking work home with her.

Didn’t have much skill in letting herself be taken care of, either. He’ll have to work on that. Start small, with paying for dinner, maybe opening a door or two, work up to talking about sadness and the future beyond where they were immediately going to go from here. Though to be fair, no other partner had ever brought her to orgasm, either, and that wasn’t a particularly small thing.

 _See, even that!_ he thinks. Peggy seemed like the sort of woman who’d demand her own pleasure, and yet she’d been surprised that Daniel, insisted on providing that - and it felt like it was about more than just being unused to others providing for her. 

She sashays into the living room with the light fabric of the nightgown fluttering around her, and it doesn’t look like it takes her much thought at all to pause on her way toward the hallway and wait to be joined by Daniel, smiling like they know a wonderful secret - which, while not wholly befitting the situation, is not entirely false, either. He relishes the moment they spend with their hands clasped together before they reach his room and he has to concern himself with other matters, like that of changing into pyjamas and taking off his prosthesis. 

It’s more uncomfortable having to do it in front of someone, but it’s _Peggy_ , for God’s sake, who after taking a moment in the bathroom to wash her face, has curled up on the other side of his bed and is watching curiously; even when he’s focused primarily on the process of removing the leg, the view of her in his peripheral vision certainly makes it look more like she’s watching as a matter of gaining experience, like she’s paying great care to rehearsal of what he’s doing in her head...as though she’s trying to learn how to do it herself. 

Some other night, some length of time from now, he’ll guide her through it. After all, he does hope there will be a great many more nights that they spend in the same bed, so it would be reasonable to assume that at some point he’ll feel much more comfortable with that, even though he’s still too insecure about himself below the belt for the time being. He realizes that Peggy probably thinks he’s being a bit ridiculous about the matter, remembering how eager she’d been for taking his cock earlier; she’d been conscious not to rush, but just because she managed to pace herself hadn’t kept her lovely eyes from revealing even more lust and excitement than she’d let on, and she certainly hadn’t been able to hide how sopping wet and needy she’d gotten, either.

_And she’s still here._

She’s still here with him, laying atop the plaid comforter and gazing over at his side of the bed. 

Did he _have_ a side, technically? It was _his_ bed, after all, but he is on the side he normally ends up sleeping on, anyway, so under new circumstances he guesses that means this is his side. 

The sheets, not yet warm from body heat, are quite chilly when he pulls them up and slides underneath the top sheet, and his pillow’s not much warmer; Peggy’s skin against his, though - when he’s gotten settled and she leans closer, draping her arm over his chest and scooting until she’s next to him - is hot by comparison.

Glancing past her and out the window, Daniel sees that snow is still falling, glittering the exteriors of New York’s steel and brick buildings, and everything between them, with soft and sparkling white. That view serves as an enunciation of the serenity of this quiet, peaceful, helplessly romantic moment; she’s the one to remind him that he should set his alarm, in the event they don’t wake naturally before they need to, and his heart sings at the fact of such a small, quotidian thing. 

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Peggy whispers eventually, a thin but cheerful sliver of a string of words, and Daniel tilts his head down from his pillow and captures her in a slow, gentle kiss before returning, “Merry Christmas, Peggy.”


	19. Chapter 19

By the time they head out for church, much of the snow is gone, and the sidewalks are a bit slippery, but clear of non-human obstacles for the most part. The walk isn’t difficult, but the six oldest of their entourage of eight go relatively slowly. Peggy isn’t used to walking in a manner that doesn’t imply purpose, but between lovely festive storefronts, Pam’s mother Edith entertaining with tales of her youth in Victorian New York, and Daniel’s hand clasping hers, it’s easy enough to break from personal tradition.

The twins, however, rush down all four sidewalks in their path, bouncing with joy and stopping only to roll on the balls of their feet at the street corners as they allow the adults to catch up with them. To Peggy - and on account of their grandmother - they look readier for the runway than for running. 

The primary - and, quite possibly, the only - distinction between the two is that their outfits are in perfect opposition: Millie, with a sequined dark green bow in her hair, a matching taffeta dress, and a deep red square-shouldered coat, and the colors were switched for Frances, with a red bow and dress and a green coat. Their two heads of warm blonde ringlet curls get lost behind those of other New Yorkers a number of times in front of their companions, and for all the fuss their father makes of it, they’re enthusiastically chatting with a priest on the church steps when their company arrives. 

He’s a dark-haired man with olive skin who looks barely older than she and Daniel, in sparkling violet vestments and bright spirits, who seems to recognize every parishioner on sight - including, but not limited to, most of those in Peggy’s party. 

“Miss Raymond, how lovely to see you again this Christmas. Easter was so long ago, wasn’t it?” he greets Pam’s mother.

“Cliff, Merry Christmas. Hope the work week treated you well enough, glad you’re here no matter what sort of fortune it brought,” he continues as he shakes hands with Pam’s husband and then with her, “Missus Foster, always a pleasure. Those cookies from last weekend were well-enjoyed, might I add.” 

“Daniel, wonderful you came. Your absence was noted last night, so we were hoping the girls would have you in tow.”

“Sorry, other pressing matters came into conflict with the midnight service, but better a later hour than never, I believe.”

“Yes, of course. And on that note…” the Father angles himself slightly to Daniel’s left side, and Peggy pulls her right arm from its place curled around his forearm in order to shake the priest’s outstretched hand.

“Father Douglas, this is Peggy Carter, my girlfriend.” She’s pretty sure no one else notices that Daniel’s arm curls around her backside for his hand to rest on her far hip as he says it, the statement announcing itself with that heart-pounding mixture of joy, pride, and awkwardness; but she leans the teensiest bit closer.

“What a _blessing_ to be able to welcome you here today, Peggy. Merry Christmas.” 

Father Douglas’ look of pride is remarkable, and along with his tone and the fond way he clasps his second hand over his and Peggy’s joined ones as they’re introducing themselves, reveals more about how deep Daniel’s religious practice runs. She’s a bit surprised to find it comforting as opposed to off-putting. 

“And Merry Christmas to you as well, Father.”


	20. Chapter 20

Mid-afternoon finds them back at Daniel’s apartment post-brunch, drunk on cheer, cherry pie, and Irish coffee, tangled up on his couch with a couple blankets strewn over them and the radio on at a low volume - loud enough to hear when they were quiet, but not so loud that it was disruptive if they wished to talk instead. It’s at one of the moments when they’re practically silent - not a sound in the room but the rise and fall of their breaths, some crooner’s unplaceable voice from the radio, and vague interruptions emanating from the area of the apartment where the wall was shared with the Foster family’s apartment - when it dawns on him that Peggy’s yet to have received the present that Daniel had picked out for her. 

It’s a relief, though, that he’s even more able to have faith it’ll be _well_ -received: it, at the absolute least, bordered on romantic, and he’d never actually managed to figure out what he might say if he really did need to take that out of the equation.

Clearly, those implicit intentions aren’t going to be problematic. 

Peggy’s settled into his side now, but once Daniel hears the song on the radio changing he realizes that if he doesn’t get up soon he’s just going to forget again, so he nudges her away; she groans at first, but moves, pulling the blankets towards herself as he bends down for his crutch and gets up. He answers her questioning expression with a soft “I had something for you, too, remember?”, and it’s greatly amusing how bright her eyes get in realization and curiosity, wide and excited not only as he heads to the miniature Christmas tree in the corner of his living room but as he sinks back down into the couch with the tiny parcel in hand.

The bow of the gold ribbon only takes a few seconds for her to pry open, yet she still undoes the wrapping of the necklace with caution.

Daniel’s actually _less_ surprised to see - well, _feel_ \- Peggy’s breathlessness than he’d expected beforehand. The tips of her fingers curl around the powder pink pearls and their silver linings and chain, and her soft gasp leans her more deeply into his side.

“Margaret means pearl, you know,” she whispers, almost giddily, and Daniel grins, nodding and pressing a kiss at her temple. 

_Oh, he knew._

“My mother, when she died, left quite the collection of jewelry,” he explains. “My father never sold it, and my stepmother doesn’t want any part of it, so technically it’s all mine. Going through it a little while ago, I saw some pieces that seemed rather fitting for you; this was my personal favorite. I know it’s not as personal as if I’d gone out and found something _just_ for you, but…”

“No, no...no, Daniel, this - this is so very sweet. Thank you,” she declares, tilting her head up in just the right direction to kiss him without giving him a chance to reply. She pulls back a moment later, just long enough to try and fail to clasp the necklace behind her neck, make an adorably frustrated face about it, and have Daniel pry it from her and fasten it himself (with a small smirk she then insists on abruptly kissing off). 

Not that he’d even dream of complaining. 

Only a few hours ago, he was actually disappointed that his father called in a rain check for Daniel’s first Christmas on both American soil and his own feet in a few years, but now it clearly had been for the better; he’d had a couple really swell holidays as a boy, but this was, without a doubt, certainly the best of all his Christmases ever. And it would’ve been, even without any of the particulars of the previous night that he’d kept from relaying to the curious twins, because he’d got the message loud and clear that the woman he _loved_ loved him back. 

Peggy’s the first girl he’s felt serious enough about to feel scared as a result - heavy with overwhelm, fearful of heartbreak, and now...she throws a blanket over him, scoots a little closer, and moves so she’s resting most of her upper body weight against his chest, and he cradles his arm around her back so his fingertips are gracing her far shoulder, and his whole sentimental self is just humming with the sort of peaceful happiness that spread warmth through your body and made it feel like nothing could go wrong. 

And oh, for the love of everything good in the world, he hoped nothing would. Or at least, that thing would be something small like Jarvis calling or the presents he’d pitched in to get for the twins turning out to be the wrong sizes. This holiday seemed to have a trend of those small things, though, rather than automobile accidents or getting called into work last-minute - both of which had interrupted a Halloween he’d been intending to spend with the Fosters this past October. 

But today, right now, Peggy’s fingertips are on his knee, absentmindedly tapping along to the radio, and Daniel’s able to stop worrying about the potential for error easily enough to stay focused on her for the time being - able to care more that she’s pressed up against him than that her hand is near the crease where his thigh ends his leg, to care more that she’s happy and perfect and _here_ than that upon a moment of thought it still feels immensely surreal that she’d have chosen _him_ to be with. 

Although, to be fair, even in a self-deprecatingly critical state, Daniel realizes that falling in love in the first place is anything but a matter of _choice._ For all anyone knew, God pulled names out of hats or threw darts to decide who’d end up loving whom. (Daniel hoped not, but some guy in his unit had made the joke about God and a dartboard one night when they were all out at a bar and Daniel never had quite managed to get the image out of his head.) But no matter how little control he’d had - how little _either_ of them had had - it’s happened and _they’re in love_ and he wouldn’t give that up for all the control in the world. Or even the world itself. He had one already, didn’t he? He had _her_ , and he got to hear her call him the king, with that wondrous declaration, still and already echoing in his head: “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Peggy Carter, Daniel’s girlfriend. Merry Christmas.”

_Peggy Carter, Daniel’s girlfriend._

The thought had been a refrain in his dreams, but he could count on a single hand the times he’d actually believed he had a chance at being able to say it. 

_Mine._

Such a strange, little, lovely thing, wasn’t it? Just a word, just a series of letters, yet...something with such a great deal of weight within it. 

_“You aren’t allowed to pretend you’re imposing anything on me, Daniel...not tonight, not ever.”_

_“Tell me, and honestly, that...that this means I’m yours now…”_

Daniel turns his head, pulling up just far enough to press a whisper of a kiss against Peggy’s temple; they’re too close to each other for her to actually meet his eyes, but she angles her head towards him anyway.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” he quotes, and in adjusting positioning in a way that lets his hand move down her arm sees her beaming in response.

“Merry Christmas, Daniel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUN ~voting time again~
> 
> As we all know, comments are gold. SO. Aside from asking you to comment with your thoughts, I've got some options for y'all in regards to this here thingamabob. 
> 
> ETA: Officially made this the last chapter. Gonna do a sequel. 
> 
> In regards to the aforementioned sequel, do you want it to be (and more than one is acceptable, btw): 
> 
> (feel free to drop me some more specific ideas)  
> aa. involving Angie  
> ab. involving Jack  
> ac. involving Howard  
> ad. just Daniel and Peggy  
> ae. at the SSR office  
> af. involving church  
> ag. involving other(s)  
> ah. involving other holidays  
> ai. more sex  
> aj. more fluff
> 
> b. or something I didn't even think of?
> 
> (You can just let me know your thoughts/hopes/wants/whatever about this, either in comment or at tumblr @clarascarters or @endgamedanielcarter.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone!


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